


sunshine boy

by latinacap



Series: foreigner's lullaby [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Diana (Wonder Woman) Needs a Hug, Diana is Steve's Biological Mother, Disabled Characters, F/M, Immigration inaccuracy, Irish Sarah Rogers, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Minor Character Death, Mother-Son Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Sacrifice, Sarah Rogers is a saint, Slow Burn, World War II, non-graphic childbirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:46:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latinacap/pseuds/latinacap
Summary: Come here, Sunshine Boy, I have to tell you something. Your life is always going to be a difficult one, but don’t let that harden your heart. A hard life can be a good life as long as you always do what you can to help others. Never forget that.(alternatively, a fic that deals with motherly love, secrets, sacrifice, falling in love in war, and the union between a demigod and mortal that created an American God)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I saw the first Wonder Woman movie, I came up with the idea that Diana and Steve Trevor are Steve's biological parents as a joke. It ended up getting fueled by the similarities between Steve and Diana, add in Dear Theodosia from Hamilton, and here we are. Special thanks to my beta, Avery, who made this legible, and Stephanie for helping me with some Greek Mythology lore that will come to play later on. 
> 
> That being said, Sarah's fancast is Rachel McAdams (specifically from The Notebook). That's about it lol 
> 
> Enjoy!

The New York skyline emerged from the fog as the boat approached to the bustling city. The first thing Sarah saw was the Statue of Liberty was a modern day Saint Peter posted at the Heaven’s Gates. She stood proud and majestic, her torch-bearing arm held high. The others on the boat all gasped when the dull light of the hidden sun hit her, illuminating her in a way that stood out against the promise of a new life. The whispers and shouts of joy filled the deck, everyone jumping to their feet to rush to the railing to get a better look at the skyline.

The commotion woke up the baby in her arms, his small face twitching in discomfort as his small arm wiggled out of the blanket to wave around. Bright blue eyes landed on her face, a whine already falling past his lips. She cooed the child quietly, “You’re alright, my sunshine,”. The infant merely yawned and closed his eyes, drifting to sleep against her breast to dreams of grandeur. Her fingers danced across his brow, smoothing down the fine blonde hair.

A twinge of discomfort settled in her stomach while looking down at the gorgeous infant in her arms. Her own baby was taken by the war, miscarried at the cuspus of a second term before she could even announce her pregnancy to the love of her life. This child had not even one drop of blood that was either hers nor her husband, a child orphaned not two minutes after birth. Still, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and pulled the blanket up higher to protect his head from the American cold. “That’s it. Just rest, my sunshine boy. We’ll be alright,” she whispered, and gazed at the land before them as the sounds of promises grew louder, “I swear it,”

“How old?”

Sarah startled and turned, coming nose to nose with an young dark woman. Her hair was limp with tangled curls and her dress had seen better days, but her face was smooth and a sweet smile that almost lifted Sarah’s own lips. The woman’s hand drifted down to rub her large middle. “This is my first,” the woman chuckled in a thick accent, “I know almost nothing about babies,” 

The blonde smiled, angling her body to show the sleepy baby to the woman. “He’s two weeks,” Sarah cleared her throat, “A tad bit small, but got a good set of lungs on ‘em” 

The woman nodded, rubbing her stomach soothingly and looked at Sarah for permission. Nodding to her, the young stranger stepped closer to the bundle in the nurse’s arms. Her delicate hands pulled back the blanket from under Steven’s chin, letting out a gentle “oh” when she laid eyes on him. “He is beautiful,” the young woman sighed, “You and your husband are very lucky,” 

Sarah didn’t have the heart to tell her - to burst the bubble that even Sarah herself had fallen into in believing that the child was hers, the perfect combination of herself and Joseph, but the reality that the child was an orphan that Sarah is smuggling into America. A child born into a world so wrought with death and war that it pried him from both parents. A child with no country. 

Sarah smiled, but it felt forced and wooden. “Thank you. He takes after his father,” 

* * *

 

_“Diana? Dear?”_

_The room was a lovely bedroom that was_ _completely_ _adorned with white. From the curtains, to the sheets, to the gown worn by the woman in the bed, it was all bathed in a_ _gorgeous_ _minimalist canvas that had Sarah’s fingers itching to paint. The plump woman that lead her to the apartment was wringing her hands nervously, biting her lips as she came to stand by the other woman’s side. “Oh thank goodness! I found a nurse, dear,” she muttered, laying a hand on the brunnette woman’s shoulder._

_The spot between her legs was damp, colored in a pink tint. Her beautiful features were strained in discomfort, and her hair was a messy array of ebony that fell into curls down her shoulders. She peered up at Sarah through long eyelashes that fanned her cheeks with a slight pinch between her eyebrows. All in all, the woman before was possibly one of the most attractive women Sarah Rogers had ever seen in her life - even though she had a swollen stomach the size of a ripe and ready watermelon._

_Frowning, Sarah rushed over to her side as quick as her tired feet could take her. “Etta! You didn’t tell me it was a pregnant woman!” when the young nurse spoke, she felt the slight tinge of her accent against her tongue that felt foreign compared to that of Etta. Sarah laid a soft hand onto Diana’s forehead, “You’re having a baby, and she leaves you on your own!”_

_Somewhere to the corner, there’s a huff and the annoyed accented voice of Etta remarking, “I had to find help, didn’t I?! You’d think there’d be a decent midwife in London, of all places!”_

_The blonde nurse rolled her eyes. “Well, you found me,” her fingers dug into the taunt flesh of the exposed stomach, feeling around firmly on the sides. Diana watched her closely. Be it the year she has spend in the world of men or her newfound motherly instinct, Diana seemed to be_ _volatile_ _towards anyone who neared her stomach. Sarah paid no mind to it - although not quite a midwife, she remembered seeing the occasional woman on the streets of Ireland batting her hand away whenever the blonde reached towards them. She turned towards the other woman, the energy from the corner of the room was making it hard to concentrate. “Etta, do be a dear and go fetch me some hot water and towels,” the woman smiled, still feeling around for the baby._

_“Of course!” Etta said, perking up instantly, “Oh, do try to hold off on the delivery! I don’t want to miss seeing the precious girl,”_

_The moment that Etta was out of the room, the nurse stopped moving her hands and removed the diamond ring that adorned her finger. Sarah dropped the ring in the pocket of her dress, opened her bag silently, and dug around for a good moment before slipping on a pair of sterile medical gloves. “We weren’t properly introduced,” she held her hand out, tired eyes barely staying open. When Diana’s hands stayed on the sides of her bump, the blonde lowered her hand, “My name is Sarah Rogers,”_

_“Diana. Diana Prince,”_

_“Nice to meet you,” Sarah nodded, moving from near Diana’s stomach towards the foot of the bed. The cool air must’ve felt uncomfortable when Sarah lifted the blanket up and checked between Diana’s legs as the woman twitched. The_ _brunette_ _swallowed hard, ignoring the discomfort in favor of looking at the still-ticking watch on the night stand until the nurse finished her brief examination. “I’d say you’re about five centimeters!_ _Halfway_ _there, darlin’,”_

_There was a pause, then after what seemed like hours later - probably five minutes at most - Sarah spoke again, “Do you already have a name picked out?”_

_Diana smiled, “Hippolyta, after my mother,”_

_“That’s a beautiful name,” Sarah said, “It has an elegant ring to it,”_

_Diana said nothing further, and Sarah was finding it hard not to fidget in the silence. She was never really fond of it. Back in Dublin, it was rare that she wouldn’t be out in the bustling night life of the town with her arms intertwined with her friends, giggling flirtatiously at the young men who smiled like wolves as the mere scent of their perfumes. She remembered dancing with so many men, for so many hours, that her shoes would wear on the_ _cobblestones_ _and would spend the next day next to her mother fixing the soles._

Speaking of which _, Sarah hummed a small note to get Diana’s attention. “My mother’s name is Granuaile. It means ‘female pirate’, and you’d believe it,” Sarah continued with a laugh, “I always liked the tradition of namin’ your babe after your mother, but … Granuaile? It sounds a bit harsh, don’t you think?”_

_Diana didn’t answer, so Sarah pressed her lips into a thin line as she got to organizing her things. It all sounded too loud in the room as the instruments shifted against each other -_ _metallic_ _and hard. When the young woman was done, she moved back to checking back on the process of the baby to which she delightfully announced, “Eight centimeters! Almost there, dear,”_

_It wasn’t until Sarah announced it that Diana suddenly felt the sharpening pain that seemed to increased with each passing moment. The nurse made quick to grab the damp washcloth from the dresser and started to dab the small beads of sweat from Diana’s temple. “Oh, you poor darling, you’re doing amazing,” the blonde tried to encourage, but she closed her mouth with a soft click when Diana gave a small cry. She felt useless to help the woman. Maybe she could ring for someone more experienced in_ _childbirth_ _?_

_“Where is the father?” Sarah_ _prodded_ _, wringing the cloth over a basin of water on the nightstand. “I’d hate to have him miss this,”_

_Diana didn’t reply right away, and if her eyes began to mist, Sarah told herself it was just from the labour. “He’s among the stars,” was all she said and Sarah understood._

_There was tense pause in the room, one that made Sarah's skin prickle with discomfort and sent chills running down her body. She took in a shaky breath, plastering on a sad smile. “... So is my Joseph,”_

_The reality of the statement came baring down on Sarah like a freezing rainstorm. Dear Lord, she hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. She wasn’t the only one who lost someone in the war - much less had to bear a child without them by her side. Diana licked her lips before asking, “How long were you ...?”_

_“My entire life,”_

_“Did … did you have children?”_

_“Almost,” Sarah ignored Diana’s glazing eyes as Diana ignored Sarah’s. The blonde sniffed, her eyes trained on her finger where her ring usually resided, “I … my beautiful Joseph died before I could’ve told him and then suddenly … there was nothin’ worth telling,”_

_It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to any of them. It wasn’t fair that Diana lost the one thing that she cherished more than anything, and it wasn’t fair that Sarah had to experience two losses so close to one another. The war took so much from so many all because a pathetic dick measuring contest was more important than the lives of human beings. Those_ _heartless_ _people decided that the final goodbye between two star-crossed lovers was to be their last moments of happiness, and they decided that Diana was to have her child completely alone. There was no stopping a war once the seed had been planted, but Sarah would give almost anything to go back in time to uproot the entire thing before it grew more._

_“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose two parts of your soul,” Diana said in a hushed tone. The nurse sighed with a small smile, a shaking hand rose to wipe a tear from her eye._

_“It hurts, but …” A pause. “Joseph would’ve wanted me to help anyone I can, especially in times like these,”_

_Diana reached out to hold Sarah’s, squeezing it tightly in comforting gesture. Another contraction hits, and both women couldn’t have been more thankful for the distraction._

 

_The sun was nothing more than a dying blaze of gold and shadows when Diana gave a final Earth-shattering push that finally expelled the baby out. A small, fragile little thing, the baby barely made a noise as Sarah got to work on wiping its mouth and nose of blood and_ _placenta_ _. She only had a few seconds to wrap the baby up and clamp the_ _umbilical_ _cord before she returned to pressing her fingers deep into Diana’s stomach hard enough to help the_ _placenta_ _pass. It only took a few pushes before it came out, and Sarah smiled wide. “You did it! Diana, you did amazing!”_

_The_ _brunette_ _finally threw her head back in exhaustion, her chest heaving as she panted up towards the ceiling. Sarah allowed the new mother the few moments of peace, instead choosing to turn her attention to the quiet baby before her. She snipped the cord to_ _separate_ _baby and_ _placenta_ _._

_Small, skinny, and curled up, the baby wasn’t by far like the ones she was use to seeing in books and in person. Its little mouth was open, yet no shrill cries came out. Sarah gingerly took the sensitive foot in her hand and hit the soles just hard enough for it to get a reaction. She continued to do so - her heart frozen dead in her chest - before the baby final gave out a whail into the the early evening of London. The cries gave him a pit of color now, rosey in the cheeks and flushed all the way down to its small chest -_ his _small chest. Sarah laughed, surprised to find salty tears sliding down her cheeks as she picked up the baby to hold him against her chest. “Diana, I think you might wan’ta rethink that name! It’s a boy!” she cried out over the baby’s cries._

_Looking up, she found Diana was looking at the baby with a smile so wide and genuine that the dying sun paled in comparison. “A … a boy?” she breathed quietly, her hands reaching towards Sarah, “May I hold him?”_

_Sarah nodded excitedly. She got up from her spot on the bed and moved to stand near Diana, bouncing the baby gently in her arms. Now that the sun has caught on the baby, Sarah realized just how beautiful he was. Perfectly sculpted cherub cheeks, fine brown hair, and a comically handsome big nose all amounted into the child’s delicate looks that would one day have every woman in England tripping over themselves._

_She passed the newborn over to his mother and immediately felt the absence of the weight from her arms. Like she was missing a piece._ Stop being dramatic, Sarah, _she thought,_ don’t go ruining a happy moment, now. 

_Diana held the baby to her chest and cooed at his small face, a slight laugh and sob coming out of her as she stared down at her son. Tears collected at the corners of her blue eyes, the wind being knocked out of her as the baby opened his eyes to reveal a slightly brighter shade of blue that Sarah had never seen before. It must’ve been significant, thought, because the moment she saw them, Diana completely_ _unleashed_ _the ball of emotions that was penting up in her chest. The tears ran freely down her cheeks. “Oh my gods …” she whispered, looking down at the rest of the naked babe, “You’re perfect. Everything about you is- you’re perfect,”_

_The moment was so intimate that Sarah couldn’t bring herself to watch - but the hard lump in her throat and the feeling of having something missing obligated her to watch the first of many talks between a boy and his mother. Diana lowered her forehead against the baby’s, sobbing and whispering psalm-like prayers against the boy’s noise. “I love you,” she said in a voice that Sarah wasn’t meant to hear, “I love you so much,”_

_Hearing the words spoken in such a way finally allowed Sarah to move, and she got to work on gathering her utensils. She wiped them down with the cloth from earlier, a small_ _satisfied_ _feeling in her heart_ _shining_ _as she sent them inside her bag. In that moment, Etta finally chose to come back inside the room holding the towels and hot basin of water and an angry grimace on her soft face. “What did I tell you, Diana?! You went and had the little lamb without me! Christ, a woman steps out for a moment and all the sudden ...”_

_Diana either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore Etta, her lips still moving in silent promises over the smooth skin of her son. The boy’s lips moved as they took in a giant gulp of breath. His hand curled around the loose dark curl of his mother - a beautiful contrast of pale and dark. Now, Sarah hasn’t opened up a Bible since her younger years when she was just a little girl in church, but the scene before her looked almost exactly like the_ _stained glass_ _windows of the church portraying the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus - both adorned with golden halos and bathed in the glow of_ _royalty_ _. Sarah made sure to capture the image in her head._

_“The little fella was too eager to meet mum,” Sarah chirped in from her spot beside the dresser, “He gave us a fright at first, but he seems to be right as rain now,”_

_Etta’s smile suddenly dropped. Her eyes widened as she looked between Diana and Sarah, then at the baby before back to Diana. “He? It’s a boy?” she breathed, and the only reply she got was Diana’s tear nod as she squeezed the small hand of her son. Etta frowned. “Oh, Diana,”_

_Sarah felt the atmosphere shift from joyous to serious in only a matter of seconds. The golden hue of the room turned dim, the faces of the other two woman paled as they gazed upon the baby. A chill ran across the room that had Sarah shivering. “I know you had your heart set on the name, but there could always be another babe,” she said,_ _scratching_ _at the place between her thumb and pointer finger, “I’m sure grandma won’t have an issue,”_

_“It’s … it’s not the name that’s the issue,” Etta drawled out, straightening up, “Boys aren’t exactly welcomed in Diana’s country,”_

_She couldn’t help the_ _disbelieving_ _laugh that came out of her. It was ridiculous, could you blame her? She had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps if the country had strict laws against women, then she’d be able to believe that more than a country that simply didn’t welcome men or boys. “That cannot be true. What country doesn’t allow boys?”_

_“Themyscira,” Looking to Diana, the young nurse found that she was staring at her with an intensity that could melt her on the spot and a tight jaw. The sun has died out by now, the only light in the room came from the last remaining rays that were dulling by the second, yet Diana still glowed as if the sun were still_ _shining_ _up on her. “Home of the Amazons,”_

_Sarah’s stomach dropped down to her ankles._

_“Amazons? No, those- Diana, Amazons are just from stories, they aren’t real,”_

_“So are the Gods, and the legends that the Greeks built an entire civilization on,” Diana said, voice strong and_ _unwavering_ _, “Themyscira is real, Mrs. Rogers. I would know. I’m their Princess,”_

_It was apparent that Diana must’ve suffered hysteria in her grief for the baby’s father. She’s seen it happen, almost fell for it herself. The pain and the lonely eventually manifested deep into the spouse’s self-_ _conscious_ _until it slowly overwhelmed them completely. Sarah was lucky enough to be a nurse - constantly having to be around people and her mind having to race with worry for others. The hysteria hadn’t gripped her as tight, only coming close when she miscarried. Yet again, Sarah was never one to stay down._

_A small voice in the back of Sarah’s mind told her that she had to protect the child. Feign a procedure and take the child as far from the woman as possible. She has seen what the outcome of growing up with a hysterical woman can do to a child’s mind - she’ll be damned if she’ll stand by and let it happen again. But, unfortunately, another voice told her that she cannot_ _separate_ _mother and son. If anything, it’ll be another stepping stone into the_ _madness_ _gripped onto Diana. So, she chose a_ _different_ _route and appealed to Etta._

_“Etta. Please, don’t indulge her in her_ _delusions_ _. It’ll only make it wor-”_

_A bang from the nightstand had Sarah jump back. Diana’s fist splintered a dent into the_ _hardwood_ _that the nurse recognized as oak. It’s impossible. Oak was the strongest wood that existed, it couldn’t be possible for someone to be able to dent it - much less a_ _postpartum_ _woman. The golden cuffs around Diana’s wrists glowed bright enough to illuminate half the room, and Sara found herself once more believing the stories her grandmother use to tell her as a child._

_“Wha- what the_ fuck _are you?!” she cried, backing up until her back slammed up against the door of the bedroom. Etta clicked her tongue at her language, but in that moment, Sarah couldn’t give a rat’s ass what Etta thought._

_Diana squared her shoulders. “I am Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and daughter of Zeus, King of the Gods,” the last part of the sentence was directed at the newborn in her arms, the small bundle that looked no different from a normal mortal child. The baby cooed._

_Sarah’s mind, once again, skipped like a record with a scratch as long as her forearm. Her mouth stood agap, speechless as she stared at the three occupying the same room as her. “You- I- Did I just_ _deliver_ _a demigod?” was all that she could get out, fingers nearly skinning the skin between her thumb and pointer finger._

_Etta piped up again, reminding Sarah of her presence in the room also, “Well, uh, technically speaking Diana here is the demigod and Mr. Trevor - God rest his soul - was a human,” her eyes traveled to the ceiling, rubbing her hands together, “As you can imagine, such a, uh,_ union _has never been observed so the child would either be mortal, full god, or something in between. We just plum aren’t sure,”_

_The thick silence was enough to have Sarah choking as it settled in the room, feeling moggy and dense. She didn’t dare move from her spot near the door, especially since she didn’t know exactly what Diana would do to her if she tried to flee now and possibly contact the authorities. However, a loud sob and whimper shattered the silence. All eyes were on Diana now as the goddess -_ fucking goddess _\- started to cry and whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,”. She turned to look at Sarah. “He’s too small. An amazon or a god would be bigger than this,”_

_“Oh, we can fix that! Just ought to feed him a little more, is all,” Etta nervously_ _chimed_ _, standing at the bedside awkwardly. Unfortunately, the new mother didn’t believe what Etta was telling her as she shook her head at her before looking back to Sarah._

_“I can’t take care of him. Not while Doctor Ivy or her associates are still out there,” Diana let out a shaky breath, “He needs to be far, far from here. The only way I can protect him is by keeping him as far from me as possible,”_

_“Diana-”_

_“No,” the mother’s voice came out hard and stern, determination sparking a fire in her eyes, “Sarah, I need to do what’s best for him. I can’t take him back to Themyscira, and I can’t keep him,” she paused and swallowed. Then said the words that Sarah thanked God she never had to utter herself in her young life, “I need you to take him,”_

_There was an uproar of hushed arguing between Etta and Diana - the nurse being too stunned to really participate. Lord, she felt like her heart was going to burst from all the information she was soaking up at the moment. She heard the conversation between the two in short bursts, the words “trust” and “met” being thrown around. Sarah didn’t know what was more outrageous; the fact that she was in the_ _presence_ _of a goddess, or that she was actually considering taking the child._

_All her life, she imagined her future to include a happy family living in a lovely cottage back in her hometown in Ireland. She fantasized about days spent knitting near a fireplace, children playing near her feet, a sweet husband sitting next to her reading a book with a hand touching her arm. The picture use to be so vivid up until she met Joseph, and then the picture turned into idealized visions of America - the glamour, the exciting_ _opportunities._ _The cottage turned into a home, a faceless husband turned into Joseph, and her Irish traditions became new traditions created together. She was so sure her life was going to be perfect._

_But then the war came, an_ _ideological_ _promise of glory and honor that ensnared Joseph Rogers into enlisting to one day pass down the pride to his children. He_ promised _her he’d be back. She_ promised _herself that she was going to tell him about their baby when he got back. They were going to live together in a home with Tiffany lamps and polished_ _silverware_ _._

_Then a cloud of gold swept through the trenches, and Joseph was found with his wife’s photo between blistered fingers.  
_

_“I’ll do it,”_

_Etta and Diana silenced. The watch on the nightstand ticked like Big Ben in the quiet. Sarah cleared her throat. “I’ll do it,” she said, “I- I helped my aunt with her kids, and I’m versed in basic_ _infant_ _care,” she paused, her hands clasped together over her lips, “Diana, I will do right by you,”_

_Etta sighed loudly, wiping her brow with a_ _handkerchief_ _. Sarah_ _continued_ _, “When I lost my own babe, it- … it took me a week just to get out of my own bed. I spent three months of my life preparing for a babe that was already gone. I’d give anything to have a babe,”_

_Diana chewed her lip, looking down at her son for the longest time before she spoke again. “Give me two weeks with him. You’ll have until then to get your affairs in order. Etta will make the arrangements - all you have to do is show up to take him,” she sounded confident in her decree, but Sarah didn’t miss the way her voice broke at the end of her sentence as she gently patted the baby’s back. “I’m entrusting you with my whole heart. Do not let me down, Mrs. Rogers,”_

_“I won’t,” the nurse breathed. A voice in her head started screaming at her idiocy for accepting to adopt the child, yet all Sarah saw the beautiful face of her soon-to-be son. If she hadn’t delivered the child herself, she’d think he was a marble statue that came to life with the touch of his mother. Bright blue eyes, he blinked at her before falling back into a blissful sleep. She didn’t even know she had reached for him until she felt a strong hand wrapped around her own._

_Diana’s eyes were hard. Missing all the emotion from seconds before, her voice came out more as a growl than the husky yet smooth tenure from before. Her grip was tight around Sarah’s wrist. “Don’t take him unless you mean it,”_

_The two women stared at each other. Even dressed in the white nightgown, Diana looked like she was ready to fight an entire army of Germans from the comfort of her bed and win; child against her chest and all. She could move mountains just from the echo of her voice. Everything about the woman screamed_ “goddess” _. Though, Sarah has never been known to back down from a_ _challenge_ _. She squared her shoulders back, puffed out her chest, and used all her might to pull her wrist away from Diana._

_“I would use my own body as a shield before I let any harm come to ‘em,”_

_Pleased to hear that, Diana nodded. “There’s one more condition,” she said slowly, speaking towards her son but talking to Sarah, “Name him after his father. He may have your surname, but I want him to be named after the_ _loveliest_ _thing to grace this Earth before him,”_

_Sarah sighed, taking her cap off for the first time since that morning when she woke up ready for an uneventful day in the hospital. “I will,”_

* * *

 

The ship docked at a port that Sarah was far too engrossed in her son to notice the name of. The hundreds of other immigrants cheered and embraced each other, paying no mind to the thin woman weaving through the crowd. The commotion was causing many children to wail out in discomfort, and there were shouts of many languages that Sarah can only vaguely identify as ‘not-English’. No matter. She had to grab her baggage - three pairs of dresses, her uniform, basic toiletries, and essentials for the baby - and rush as quickly as she could to the pier _._

The immigrants from the ship all followed a strict and thick line towards the the opposite direction of the pier, but with boots that had long since worn her soles down to near nothing, Sarah rushed over to the Customs line before anyone was the wiser. Well, even if she had heard a male voice shouting “Ma’am? Ma’am!”, whomever it was lost her in the amount of bodies by now. She couldn’t bother with him. In her pocket, she held the most important document needed for her and the boy to start a new life in America, away from the dangers that Diana warned her of when she gave up her only son. 

Thankfully the line moved quick, and Sarah was able to avoid having to lay the boy down on the ground to change his nappie. Other children cried and complained about the heat, but her boy merely slept. She couldn’t help the small smile that curled on her lips as she gazed up on his resting face. “That’s my boy,” she whispered, “Ma will get us out of the sun faster than you can wrinkle your nose,” 

The man standing at the makeshift desk at Customs was a tall, lanky, older gentleman with suspenders that would’ve given away his discomfort of the heat if the bead of sweat on his temple didn’t already. His specks were thin, giving his face a more professional and put together look overall. Sarah smiled wide, and his cheeks flushed. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Business or pleasure?” he said, voice deep yet bored. 

“Oh, just coming back from visiting my mother,” strange how her lips move and her brain automatically pushes out rehearsed words without her meaning to, “Poor plannin’ too. Thought I’d pop in and say hello, introduce her to her grandson, is all,” 

Another smile, and the man nodded, “I see. May I see proof that you are in fact an American citizen?” 

She dug into her pocket, long fingers flipping open the folded marriage license with her name next to Joseph’s. Thank God she married an American. The officer hummed, raising an eyebrow at her. “And where’s your husband?” 

“Back in London. He’ll be joining us soon - just had some business to attend to,” 

“Very well,” he said, then continues to ask if Sarah was carrying any fruits, vegetables, the works. This time she was allowed to answer honestly, finally being able to relax for the first time since meeting the baby. He cooed, and Sarah shushed him gently. The officer seemed to interpret the coo to mean that the boy was getting uncomfortable in the late July heat. He cleared his throat, and wrote something down. “One last thing, Mrs. Rogers, then you’ll be free to go,” 

“So soon? I thought we were going to chat a little more,” she laughed, resting her free hand on his arm. The man grinned, distracted enough to forget to ask for further proof of residency. No one could ever say that Sarah didn’t know how to distract a man using her charm. 

“Now, now, none of that,” he beamed, “I’ll just need to see the birth certificate of the child,” 

“Yes, of course,” she dug deeper into her pocket, willing her hand to not shake. She prayed to every Saint she could think of, recited as many prayers as she could remember in hopes that one would listen. All her faith was now in the hands of a piece of paper that Etta was able to forge for them before she left London. A birth certificate - listing Sarah and Joseph as the infant’s parents, detailing that the baby was indeed born in Brooklyn, New York. It looked authentic, thanks to Sarah’s connections at the hospital since Dr. Miller did owe her a favor after she caught him in a supply closet with someone what wasn’t Mrs. Miller. Etta was able to take it a few steps beyond by incorporating the address of a real Brooklyn hospital near her and the baby’s new apartment. 

She presented the document to the man, smile tight and gripping her baby a little too hard when the child started to fuss. His eyes roamed between the marriage license and the birth certificate, humming a tune as if the moment wasn’t one of the most stressful of Sarah’s life. When he didn’t speak after a full minute, Sarah already started running down Plan B, Plan C, all the way to Plan G.

  
Thankfully, due to whatever God or Saint listening, the man lowered the papers with a full smile and handed both back to Sarah. “Everything looks to be in order. Congratulations, by the way,” he waved to the baby, almost close enough to kiss the baby if he wanted to, “Welcome home, Steven Grant Rogers,”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana comes around for her annual visit. Suffice to say, it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A QUICK NOTE I know you guys are expecting Stucky and I promise it's coming in the next chapter <3 In this chapter, we're introduced to Winifred Barnes and her son, James Buchanan Barnes (A name that sounded nice on paper!) We also get a little insight on Sarah and Diana's relationship. 
> 
> Once again, special thanks to Avery for beta'ing and keeping my ass on line instead of drifting from the message of this fic. 
> 
> WARNING: A child gets injured on accident. It's not graphic, though there are descriptions of blood. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The timer on the counter was almost as old as Sarah’s grandmother. It was a lovely handmade wooden hourglass, painted white with scratches and chips that interrupted the design of the intricate Forget-Me-Nots that the old woman painted herself. The sand was taken right from the beaches of Sandymount that Grandma Mary would gather on her morning walks to the market. It was one of the only things Sarah couldn’t bring herself to leave behind when she came to America five years ago. She only ever brought it out for special occasions.

Diana was visiting today.

Ever since Sarah gained custody of Steven, Diana has been keeping tabs in the form of annual visits and letters that came every month or so. The Goddess made it quite clear that she didn’t exactly approve of Sarah’s parenting methods - often letting Steven get away with things that the nurse made very clear were _not_ allowed in her household. From rude mannerisms to lavishly dangerous gifts, Diana visiting always meant that there was going to be a mess that Sarah was going to have the spend the days after she left reinstituting the Rogers household rules.

Not only that, but Diana visiting meant that Sarah had to take a few days off from the hospital. Sure, Diana tried to reimburse her the money she lost from not working, but the blonde was a proud woman who didn’t need any help in raising her son. The Amazon, on the other hand, believed that Sarah wasn’t doing a good enough job since Steven’s previously strong lungs have deteriorated into asthma and his small body looked nowhere near as full as a normal five year old’s body was.

But Saints be damned if Sarah didn’t pull out all the stops this time. Having traded one of her paintings for fresh eggs and flour, a pair of old ghillies slippers for sweet chocolate, and spending the night on the arm of Dr. Barnham for extra medication for Steven, she was determined to make this the visit that Diana will finally realize that Sarah was a good mother. Today, she was baking _chocolate chip cookies_. Dressed in a salvaged blue dress and wearing her mother’s pearls, Sarah made sure that she looked put together, but also that Steven was dressed to the nines with new clothes so nice that the poor lamb has been confined indoors all day.

Well, at least he’s not alone.

A small hand reached up and patted around on the table where Sarah was plating the cookies, only to be light smacked with the spatula. “James,” she sighed, “What did I say? You boys can have cookies _after_ Auntie Diana arrives,”

The little boy at her feet stood a good few inches taller than Steven, just enough so that he can reach the table surface on his tiptoes. Steven also knew that while Sarah had a soft spot for her son, she had no power over Jamie Barnes’ childish charm that came when you mixed a wholesome Midwestern hospitality with heartwarming Jewish manners. The boy looked up at Sarah with bright blue eyes that either turned grey or green depending on the time of day, a wide smile that was all cheeks already plastered on his face. “Just one! Stevie and I needt’a try ‘em,” he begged, “We’re good at judgin’!”

“Really now? Can you two be good at listening too?” Sarah asked, pushing the plate further to the middle of the wooden table and away from the little boy’s sticky fingers. James sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes as he pushed off from the edge of the table.

“But Mrs. Rogers! We’re starvviinngg,”

“Goodness, James, you act as if your mother never feeds you,” she said, hand pressed against the young boy’s back to nudge him towards Steven’s bedroom across the apartment, “Away with you, now. You and Steven can have plenty of cookies _after_ Auntie Diana arrives,”

James made it halfway across the room until he stopped in the middle, pushing dark curls away from his face and turning to Sarah with a pouty lip and big puppy dog eyes that certainly were able to fool Mrs. Dolin down in the bakery, but Sarah just crossed her arms across her chest with a stern look that had the boy rolling his eyes again. “Stebie!” he shouted, then sang the last part as he trotted over to Steven’s room, “It didn’t _work_!”

Sighing, Sarah returned to the task at hand as she muttered under her breath, “Always have to repeat yourself with that boy,”.

The truth is is that James was actually a Godsent. It was no secret that the other boys didn’t appreciate the fact that Steven couldn’t breathe well, making it hard to play a sport for hours with the rest of them. Mixing that with the sharp smart mouth the kid had on him, there wasn’t exactly a line of kids wanting to be his friend. The only friend Steven truly had was James - the small Jewish boy from upstairs. His mother, Winifred Barnes, was the center of attention of the building for being a sweet woman with movie star quality looks to boot. She spoke quick, always had an abundance of food she loved to pass out to the neighbors, and the most gorgeous horde of children in the building. The woman was a lot of help to Sarah, often offering to take Steven in when Sarah had to work, but her biggest contribution was her love of _gossip_.

Lord, did Winnie absolutely love to gossip. Every now and again on Sarah’s days off, the doorbell would ring to announce that Winnie was at the door with a jug of sweet tea in one hand and a vibrating James in the other. She’d send him off to play with Steven with a strict glare that said a thousand words, sit at the old uneven table in the middle of the kitchen, and remind Sarah that she was also a human being that was allowed to relax. Winnie would go on about Mrs. Someone and Mr. Who, never pausing or slowing down as she gave her two cents while both mothers kept an eye on the boys’ antics in the living room.

God, Sarah would give almost anything to have Winifred in the room during the visit.

For now, she had to make due with herself and her sunshine boy. “Steven!” she called, checking the time on the clock that stood proud on the window cell. Almost ten minutes before Diana would arrive - she had to start fixing Steven up. Sarah rushed over to the sink to dab a few drops on her rag, the sounds of shoes clobbering on the hardwood floors. She turned.

Steven wore an angry pout on his small face, blonde locks flat and short on top his head with the exception of the stubborn cowlick that disobeyed both their efforts. The tie around his neck was coming undone, the shoes on his feet about two sizes too big. “Momma,” he started, “My shoes are too big,”

Sarah pressed her lips into a thin line. Perhaps she’d been too presumptuous thinking that he would be able to grow into the shoes - not now, of course, but she hoped his foot would’ve at least grown a bit in the last three weeks since she bought them. “Hold still, darlin’” she ordered, wiping away the charcoal from his cheek with the rag despite the boy trying to pull away. She managed to get the biggest stain off, but somehow the boy managed to get charcoal on the back of his _neck_. “How do you manage to get pencil on the back of your neck?”

“Wasn’t me, Mrs. Rogers!” Jamie quipped from the bedroom’s doorway. _Oh, it absolutely was James’ doing_ . 

She rolled her eyes and turned the child around, frowning a bit at how his crooked spine was visible from his dress shirt. Nothing she can do about it now. She got to work on wiping the mark from his neck when Steven spoke in a soft tone, “Momma?”

“Steven?”

“How come Auntie Diana comes every year? Bucky says that his Auntie Ida only comes on _Hanukkah_ and _Passover_ ,” his voice was a little tight, one of the early signs that the chill of autumn air was getting the best of him, “It’s not Hanukkah or Passover. I _asked_ ,”

The stain was almost as stubborn as Steven, but Sarah knew how to deal with stubborn things. “Well, some Aunties come for holidays, others like to visit willy-nilly,” she smiled, turning the boy around to start fixing his tie, “Now, remember what I said when Auntie Diana visited last year?”

“Yes, momma!” Steven smiled back, shifting on his feet, “‘You’re my momma, so I hafta listen to you’,”

“Very good!” The tie finally tightened enough to look presentable on Steven’s small stature. The boy still beamed up at her, and the warmth in her chest returned in a flurry of love that she felt the moment she took the boy in her arms for the first time. She cupped his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “My sunshine boy,”

Steven leaned into her touch even as she tried to pull away, his eyes fluttered closed and a small smile on his youthful face. Sarah knew this was the time of a child’s life that all mothers would look back to reminisce on - a moment in time when their sons still showed love and affection openly without shame, the only thought in their head to justify it being that they loved their mother. In fact, Jamie didn’t even try to poke fun at Steven, knowing full well that the boy was the exact same with his mother whenever he thought that no other adults were around.

Her sunshine boy slotted his head on the crook of her neck and shoulder, sleepy smile widening when she only laughed and scratched his head. His small voice piped up, “I want a cookie, momma,” then nuzzled into her neck further like a borrowing honey badger. She rolled her eyes, patting his behind before standing up.

“Go play with James, sunshine,”

The two boys took off in groans and laughter, shoving each other playfully while running over to James’ set of Lincoln Logs. Their plan, as told by Steven at bedtime, was to build a tower higher than the Woolworth Building. She told him he needed a lot more Lincoln Logs to build it, then the boy replied by saying James offered to chop down a tree for more wood. It was a back and forth arguement of “yes, momma” and “no, Steven” before the two finally agreed that Lincoln Logs were going to be gifted for his sixth birthday in the summer.

There was a crash from the bedroom followed by groaning - a quick glance revealed all the logs on the floor with both boys laying face down in disappointment. “Steven! Get up off the floor before you dirty up your shirt,”

The doorbell rang as the two boys were getting up and dusting themselves up. Sarah’s heart dropped down to her stomach as she heard the polite knock on their door. She pulled both boys into the living room, quickly ordering them to stand side by side in the middle of the living room, and licked her thumb to fix any stray hairs. “Smile,” she whispered, demonstrating with her own smile as the boys beamed back at her. She nodded in approval and went to open the door.

Diana Prince stood in the doorway with a poised stance that spoke to her royal background. Her piercing eyes were shrouded by the brim of a hat that was tipped low, roaming around the apartment before nodding towards Sarah. “It’s nice to see you, Sarah,” she said, handing the nurse a tray of … cookies, “Etta sends her regards. She made them herself using French chocolate,”

Sarah tried to let the coincidence slide, though she really can’t help it if her smile became tight. “How charming. I’ll just set these on the table,” she said to no one in particular, since Diana had already moved away from the doorway and started to approach Steven. It was only then that Sarah saw the large object wrapped in newspaper behind the Goddess’ back.

“Hello, Steven,” she smiled, something genuine that Sarah rarely saw in the past five years that they had been having these regular visits, “Are you happy to see me?”

Steven looked at Sarah for approval, the woman waving her hand at him and using her fingers to lift up her own smile. The boy then smiled wider, lunging to hug Diana in a short but sweet embrace. “Yes, Auntie Diana,”

Diana chuckled at that, her gloved hand coming up to rub the boney back of the boy. Steven shied away and wiggled out of the embrace with the energy that only a five year old child can possess. Though, the energy was then put into bouncing over to where James still stood in the living room. Grabbing him by the hand, Steven pulled the taller boy towards Diana. “This is James. He’s my bestest friend!” the blonde boy started, “We’re gonna build _houses_ together when we grow up,”

“How do you do?” Jamie shouted, filling the apartment with his high-pitched voice. Sarah winced as it echoed. She hoped that Mr. DeNuncia didn’t mind the noise - being in the same building as James and all. “I’m James Bucky Barnes!”

Sarah wrinkled her nose at the mispronunciation, and she held back a laugh when she saw Steven’s face wrinkling up in the same fashion. Bless his heart, Winifred did go a little overboard when naming her first born. The woman’s exact words being, “ _It sounded nice on paper! You throw a rock in Indiana and you hit two men named James, but you won’t hit someone named James_ Buchanan,”. In all fairness, Steven wasn’t exactly the most unique name, but her little boy was unique enough on his own. It was much better than naming a child a name so needlessly complicated and wrong in the mouth of a child that can barely hold a fork.

Diana smiled over at James, extending a hand to him and almost completely folding to reach his level. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking his small hand when it is offered. In the years that follow, Sarah made sure to bring up how James’ cheeks actually flushed when Diana spoke to him - full cheeks turning red as a silly smile spread over his lips. It would lead to many shoving matches between the two boys that would lead to playful roughhousing, all because James thought that Diana Prince was _pretty_ . 

 _Pretty_. Of course she was gorgeous. It was the first thing Sarah noticed when she stepped into that apartment five years ago following Etta - heart in her throat as she imagined what kind of horror awaited her since the plump woman was in such a rush to get her in the room as quick as possible. The years that passed didn’t so much as leave a freckle out of place on her beautiful face. Time stood still for Diana in a way in which a century meant merely an hour had passed.

And, Lord, Sarah hated to admit it. Hating admitting to anything that burst her perfect little fantasy bubble, but Steven started to resemble his real parents as he grew older. At first, Sarah could easily just pretend that Steven took after Joseph’s side of the family with a straight nose and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Then he started to display the lines between his eyebrows when he concentrated hard enough, his lips filling out like his mother’s, and his hair going from a light blonde to a dusty blonde like his father (as Diana had pointed out last year).

The older her little boy got, the less _hers_ he became.

“I got you a gift,” the woman’s voice snapped Sarah back to reality as her maternal instincts kicked in - rushing from the kitchen counter the living room faster than her breaking mary jane heels allowed her to. The gift was poorly wrapped in newspaper that could barely conceal the long blade of a _sword_. The boys eyes widened as they saw the familiar shape from the storybooks, both vibrating with anticipation. “It’s called the God Killer-”

“No, no!” Sarah grabbed the sword from Diana and almost dislocated her shoulder to do so. The boys’ faces fell in disappointment, Diana’s eyes murderous, but Sarah set it down on the floor where it could do no damage. “No swords, Auntie Diana! We spoke about this,”

“If I recall,” Diana rose up from the floor, cheekbones suddenly looking like knives, “I believe it was less of speaking and more of you lecturing me,”

“Lecturing you? I did no such thing,”

“No? What do you call it when someone belittles you for half an hour?”

“Well considering that you brought a big sharp knife into my home, I believe that I have the right to-”

Steven stomped his foot on the ground, hugging his small body in a fashion that Sarah assumed meant he was crossing them disapprovingly. His lips were puckered inward, and the lines between his eyebrows were prominent. James didn’t seem to be in the same room as everyone else, his little eyes staring intensely at the cookies on the counter. He seemed unaware of the distressed child next to him. “Momma!” Steven said, “No yelling!”

Sarah and Diana were silent for a long time, looking between Steven and the other with stilled anger. The nurse cleared her throat, fidgeting with her dress to a more presentable look before bending down slightly to look at Steven. Her tapped his nose with her finger. “You’re right, darling. No more yelling,” She stood back up straight, moving her bangs out of her eyes, “I’ll be in the kitchen finishing up supper. Diana, do you mind keeping an eye on James too?”

Diana’s lips twitched like she wanted to say something else, to finish the conversation, but she merely nodded toward Sarah. Steven had lost his pout, exchanging it for a more serious set face that she swore he must’ve gotten from one of the neighbors in the building. He reached up and took Diana’s hand in his own, pulling her towards his bedroom. The look on the brunette's face had all the previous resentment draining from Sarah’s body - she knew how precious it was when a child grabbed hold of you and refused to let go with their immense strength. Diana looked back at Sarah over her shoulder, eyes wide, before going back to following wherever Steve was leading her to. James followed behind with a jealous tinge to his brow that Sarah also felt on her own face.

* * *

With the bread out of the oven to cool and the stew marinating, Sarah tapped her finger against the counter of the kitchen as she puckered her lips in annoyance. Supper was ready, yet the squeals and giggles coming from Steven’s room only served as warning to not interrupt the bonding. Still, she felt restless standing around doing nothing - so she grabbed the plate of _inferior_ cookies made with _American_ chocolate, the watered down wine she got as a gift, and stormed out of the apartment.

She gave a half-hearted explanation behind her. If her heels sounded angry as she stomped upstairs, she didn’t spare it a second thought. She arrived to the Barnes’ door in a flurry of knocking until the Jewish woman swung open the door with a frown.

“What is with the noise, Sarah? I’m trying to put Rebecca down for a na-” she was interrupted as Sarah shoved the cookies into her hands, moving past her without a word to the polished kitchen to rummage for two glasses, “Wh-what is this? Are these cookies?”

“Yup!” Sarah grumbled, struggling to pop open the cork on the bottle, “Made them this morning. They’re not as good as French fancy chocolate chip cookies, but didn’t want them to go to waste,”

Winnie gave her a puzzled look, but eventually caved into the mad woman’s ramblings and set the cookies down in the middle of her big dining room table - adorned with a honey yellow and white table cloth that spoke to the woman’s refined pallet. “Alright, alright,” she said, sitting down on a chair and looked over at Sarah from over a smooth shoulder. Sarah finally managed to get the cork off the bottle, bringing it over to the dining room table with two glasses in her other hand. Usually, Sarah Rogers tried to keep herself composed at all times in case her son needed her. Steven’s health conditions were longer than her arm, so she has to make sure to always be alert in case he ever needed her - so that meant that it was rare that Sarah would go out, drink, or even be inside the Barnes’ home.

Consider today her cheat day.

“Care to share what’s eating at you?” Winnie asked, watching Sarah as she poured herself a generous amount of wine into the glass - dazzling eyes widening while the alcohol reached halfway to the rim. Sarah couldn’t care less, but she did stop pouring to attend to Winnie’s glass.

There was a pause, the nurse reached for the bottle again, and the brunette slid the wine away so it was out of Sarah’s grasp with a muttered “No, no, no”.

Sarah huffed. “You know, children are delicate creatures. Their brains are like mush and their bodies can barely hold up a toy train, much less a sword -” Winnie parted her lips to speak, but the blonde interrupted her with a finger, “I’ll get to that in a minute -” then she continued, “She thinks she can just come into my house and act like she’s been with Steven since he was a babe. _I’m_ the one that moved to a completely new country, worked my arse off to support the both of us, cared for my son when he was ill-”

Winnie laid a hand on the other woman’s, her warm touch reminded Sarah to breathe deeply through her nose. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she moved her hands to her lap. She watched as her finger worried red lines into the meat between her pointer finger and thumb. “Sarah, you’re going to have to start from the beginning. Who are you talking about?”

“Diana,”

“Diana Keating? From the bakery?”

Blue eyes met with blue eyes for the longest time, both women staring at the other to see who dared to break the tension between them. Winnie had questions and Sarah had reluctant answers - eventually one of them were going to have to cave. In the meantime, both mothers took swings from their glasses as George Barnes’ clock ticked loudly to fill the whole home. _Tick, tick, tick_ . The children on the street were playing and screaming, a mix of languages intermingling to become the native tongue of Brooklyn. _Tick, tick, tick_ . Rebecca’s small body made the loudest noise as she shifted in her sleep from the crib in her parent’s room. _Tick, tick_ -

Sarah caved.

Finishing the wine, she started telling Winnie a secret she had hoped to take with her to her grave. She started off with how she met Joseph at a bar her coworkers took her to after working in the hospital. He was shy, inching over slowly to speak to her. When she finally did start to talk to the young man, his face split into a wide smile and he took her hand. They stayed out for the rest of the night, toeing off their shoes to run in the cold water like children in the summer. Sarah smiled fondly at the memory, but the warmth in her chest didn’t last long when she told Winnie about her miscarriage. The blood that stained her sheet in the middle of the night, the echoing screams she unleashed into the starry night as she lost everything in a span of a few months. She didn’t notice her voice choking up until Winnie reached over to cup Sarah’s trembling hand in her own, a smile to encourage her to keep talking.

From there, she went into the details of Steven’s birth and Diana’s involvement into her life. She hesitated at first with who Diana was _exactly,_ so she forewent telling Winnie that tidbit of information - just left it to the ultimate punchline of this sick joke the universe played on her; Steven wasn’t her flesh and blood and his real mother came t-

“That’s not true,” Winnie laughed, reaching for a cookie from the plate, “Oh, there goes my diet,” she whispered before taking a bite, ruby lips leaving a small smudge on the other half of the cookie, “Anyway, it’s not true. You are every bit Steven’s mother as Diana is - Hell! Even more!”

“Win-”

“No, no, I listened to you blab for a good while, now you have to listen to me,” she smiled, a healthy shine in her eye, “You’re Steven’s mother. Flesh and blood are just Devilish details. I’ve seen how you look at him with all the love in the world … Diana may have birthed him, but you are his mother. It’s been five years, you need to stop worrying about this ‘false life’. This is _your_ life, Sarah. Steven is _your_ son. It’s … tough accepting something like that. The guilt. But it gets easier,”

“How do you know?”

“Hm?” Winnie’s face looked like porcelain, a fancy doll in the storefront with no emotion other than the dusted pink on the cheeks, “Know what?”

“... Winnie, is there something you’re not telling me?”

Now it was Winnie’s turn to chew her lip, drinking from the glass with the cookie forgot on the smooth plane of the table. She swallowed the drink, smacking her lips with a soft “Damnit,” before she leaned back in the chair. Winnie took a deep breath. “It seems that I may also have a secret,”

Sarah stayed silent, Winnie continued, “I- … George and I were meant to be married since we were teenagers. His father and my father were childhood friends and pushed for us to be married - something about how we could double our fortune. I felt like … like a _thing_. I was my own person. I didn’t need Daddy to pick out my future. Well, I guess I wanted to defy him in someway, rebel against him,” She picked at the pearly buttons of her dress, imaginary lent plucked off, “All it took was a whole bottle of rum and a sailor on leave, and suddenly … there was James,”

The nurse swallowed her gasp. James wasn’t George’s son. She mentally kicked herself for not noticing sooner. How could she have not known? George had the features of a rugged farmer, the body of a man who was no stranger to hauling hay and swinging a scythe. He was the epitome of an American-made son - heir of a successful farming company and the hardworking spirit passed down to him from generations of American men. Pale blue eyes that betrayed all emotions, his face always looked set with steel, yet he never hesitated to crack a smile when his son would run into his arms after a long day. He treated Winniefred like a Queen in her own right, holding her by the waist whenever he planted a chaste kiss to her cheek.

Yet James had soft features that did not come from his child-like plumpness. His eyes were piercing - bright enough to illuminate a room, sharp enough to be used as a weapon. Soft and sweet, he looked nothing like the Goliath that was his supposed father. He had gotten his Yiddish curls from his mother, but his teasing and charming smile came from none of the couple.

“Did you … does the father …?”

Winnie let out an awfully dark laugh, narrowed eyes that had an intent to kill given the chance. “Yes, he’s aware of James. Saw him once down at the market when James was only two and we’d just moved to New York. I told him that he was his son. Named him James Buchanan because it sounded nice on paper,” her face soured, “You know what he said to me? ‘Get that bastard away from me. I want _nothin’_ to do with it.’”

Sarah had never seen a snarl on Winnie’s beautiful face, the way her lips curled to resemble that of a beast in the wild. “Can you believe that? The asshole met his son for the first time and he doesn’t even try to be apart of his life,”

“Does George know?” Sarah asked, voice soft to avoid Winnie to draw back. The brunette sniffed.

“Yes. I told him as soon as I found out and the loon proposed to me right on the spot. Said he couldn’t wait to raise a family with me,” Winnie smiled, “Whatta load of shit. Here we were, thinking we could of had the perfect family,” her leg bounced restlessly, “You know that diseases can be passed down from parents? I didn’t,”

Flying to her lips, Sarah finally let out a gasp. Winnie wiped her tears and reached for a cigarette from her breast pocket. Her perfect lips wrapped around the butt of the cigarette, lighting it with a match she activated on the bottom of her shoe, and lit it with a spark. Her cheeks hollowed as she took a breath, breathing it out in a puff of smoke. “James has a rare condition. It works fast. Doc says that it’s passed down by the father, the ass. Somethin’ about how his spine formed. By the time my baby is twenty-six, it’ll be a Godsend if he can walk,”

It suddenly made sense, in a way. James was so full of energy, but he almost never wanted to play outside with the other children. Once in a while, she’d send them down to the market to grab a few things and the boys would go happily, but she’d never seen the boy run around like someone with his energy level would. A small mean voice in her head was happy though, that her son had a best friend who understood what it was like to live with a lifelong illness.

“I’m so sorry,” Sarah whispered, dropping hers hands to touch the warm skin on Winnie’s arm. Her thumb rubbed the appenage encouragingly. “I know how hard it is to not be able to stop your son’s suffering,”

Winnie’s lips became a thin line, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray. The smoke from the tray twisted like how Sarah always imagined the faes in her grandmother’s stories did. The woman looked at Sarah with red-rimmed eyes that made the color of her blue eyes, speaking to the anguish of a mother incapable of stopping her child’s pain. Sarah smiled, and then Winnie smiled.

The two continued to make small talk. Winnie perked up when Sarah asked about Rosemary O’Neil from across the street, immediately launching into a long tangent about the gossip she heard from the others in the building. It was nice. A small reprieve that allowed the nurse to feel young - still not ripped with wisdom and allowed to make mistakes.

The moment was gone with a sharp scream that Sarah recognized to be her son’s.

Jumping out of the chair, Sarah ran out the door, and rushed down the stairs to the floor below her. The others in the building were halfway out of their doors out of curiosity rather than concern. Her heart was loud in her ears, only hearing her son screaming as all the possibilities ran through her head. She pushed the bedroom door open with a mighty shove, ignoring the plaster that rained when the doorknob slammed into the wall.

Red. That’s all she saw. At the center of the room, Steven was laying on the floor with a large gash down his arm and onto his chest. Her son’s eyes were screwed shut as he screamed and screamed, little hand trying to keep the blood from weeping out of his limb. James sat on the floor with both hands over his ears, face screwed up as if he was about to start wailing also. The epicenter of the chaos was crouched near Steve, hair loose around her shoulder and the goddamned _sword_ next to her with a scarlet tip.

Sarah could only scream in fear, falling to her knees next to her son. He looked up at her with watery eyes, face a deep flushed red as he leaned towards her chest with a slurred chant of, “Momma,”. He tried to suck in breath, but his poor lungs couldn’t take in air at a normal capacity - much less under distress. The blonde found herself caught between wanting to lay Diana out like laundry, or comforting the child in her arms; and she didn’t shock herself in the slightest when she chose Steven.

“Let Momma see,” she whispered, smoothing out the cowlick on his toadhead, “Hush, now, you’ll be alright,”. With a deep gulp, Steven moved his hand away from the wound with a whine to show Sarah. The gash was deep, but not deep enough to have hit bone or anything important for that matter - much less warrant stitches that she was thankful wouldn’t be necessary. Though it would leave an impressive scar on his fragile skin. His first, in fact. “You’re fine. Nothing my big boy couldn’t handle,”

Steven sniffed loudly, hiccuping as he tried to suck in more air. She looked around for something to cover the injury with. She ultimately decided that there are many salvaged dresses but only one Steven; tearing off a strip of the bottom hem of her dress to fashion it around the cut on his arm. It did the trick nicely, just temporarily as she lifted the child to his feet. Sarah pressed a kiss to the cloth, wiping her son’s tears with her thumbs. “James, do me a favor? Take Steven up to your house, I’ll be by shorty to get him,” she narrowed her eyes towards the other adult in the room, pushing Steven out of the room gently with James trotting along behind him, “I need to have a word with Auntie Diana,” 

She waited. The children's’ footsteps grew more faint as did James’ gentle reassurances and Steven’s hiccups. Diana opened her mouth, though she was shot down by a single finger held up. It’s truly amazing how the scorn of an angry mother was enough to silence a Goddess. She strained her ears to hear the door upstairs slam shut, then Sarah stood up.

“Help me understand,” Sarah said, and she shocked herself with how her voice remained steady, “What happened, Diana?”

The Goddess stood uncertainly, shoulders squared but wringing  her hands in a fashion that looked so much like a human. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He wanted to know. He … he asked to see it in action, I didn’t realize how close he was standing to me,”

“You didn’t-” Sarah’s hands shook, forcing her to compose herself before speaking again, “You use a dangerous weapon around children and you didn’t consider how close they were? You could’ve cut one of their heads clean off!”

“I didn’t think-”

“You’re fucking right, Diana. _You don’t think_! God! I’ve told you hundreds of times; Steven is mortal! Stop trying to force him to be something he’s not! He’s perfectly fine the way he is!” There was a hot ball of anger and resentment building in her chest. It was the kind that forced good men into doing bad things, the kind of anger only ever witnessed in Biblical stories that usually involved a rain of fire to hail down on an unsuspecting city. It was twisted and ugly, filling her head with temptations to say the nastiest things to a woman who was trying, but not giving it her all. This, Sarah finally understood, was love. When you were ready to fight a dragon with nothing but the sharpness of your tongue.

Diana’s face screwed up in disbelief, offense painted on her face in the form of a gaped mouth and a furrowed brow. “You don’t know that. He’s strong, stronger than a child should be. Perhaps, if given the proper training-”

“Stop, _stop_ , just _stop_ it, Diana. God, are you even _listening_ to me? I know Steven better than I know my own mind. It scares me how much I love him. I’d do anything for him and it terrifies me because I don’t know the limits I could go to for him,” she knew she was yelling, loud and angry. She didn’t care. “I love Steven more than anything in my life. He is the best thing in _both_ of our lives, Diana,”

“You don’t think I know that!” Diana roared, taking strides so that she was a mere foot away from Sarah. “It kills me to hear him call you his mother. He’s everything to me. Not being around him is like living without a heart. I stay up at night worried sick, wondering if he’s safe. There are terrible men in this world. They are bringing down empires and killing good people, and Steven is the only one that can be strong enough to stop them. He is _good_ , Sarah, so full of it. He can make the world a better place for everyone,”

Sarah didn’t realize that her eyes filled with angry tears, letting out a bitter short laugh. “You’re not listening!” it came out shrill and sharp, high and irate, “Steven is a person. He is an actual human being with feelings and hobbies. He’s never going to be what you want him to be,” A few strands of blonde locks fell onto her eyes, “You have no idea what it means to be a mother, Diana Prince,”

“Oh? I don’t? Let me remind you, _Sarah Rogers_ , that you are _not_ his mother. It’s not your blood that runs through his veins, it’s mine. I made him. He’s a product of a rare union that has _never_ been recorded in history. Steven is the only one of his kind,” Diana spat out the entire statement like venom, pinpricks of anger and hatred stabbing into Sarah’s heart. She was but a woman with insecurities that Diana could play like a violin.

_‘You’re Steven’s mother. Flesh and blood are just Devilish details. I’ve seen how you look at him with all the love in the world … Diana may have birthed him, but you are his mother.’_

Balling her fists, Sarah puffed out her chest and jabbed a sharp finger into Diana’s chest. Her face was now but two inches from the brunette's face. “He calls me ‘Momma’ because I’m the only one of his mothers that gives a rat’s ass about him. You come once a year and think that makes you a co-parent? Your actions have consequences, even the ones in which you do nothing. You want to be his mother?” she didn’t wait for a reply, “Congratulations, Diana, you’re a mother. You do best by Steven. Not what you think is best. You’re going to have to grow the fuck up right now. He is _my_ son. The only way I’ll ever let you near him again will be when I am good and gone - and even then if you ever dare hurt him again, I will raise from my grave and you will find me far more horrifying than anything you claim exists in the heart of a man. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but that don’t have anything compared to me,”

Diana stared down at her, both women’s faces hard as rock. Sarah began to wonder if they would turn to statues from staying quiet and still for so long, just left to chip away in her apartment. An eternity of staring into Diana’s eyes with a threat hanging over them both. The Amazon took a deep breath. “Alright. You win. Tell me how I can be a better mother to Steven,”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment, and never return. I will tell him the truth on his eighteenth birthday, but until then, I never want you to contact either of us again,” Sarah gritted through closed teeth. She backed away from Diana to turn her heel towards the door.

“He won’t forgive you!” Diana spat, fists clenched, “He’ll never forgive you for lying to him,”

Sarah paused momentarily to glance at the woman behind her when she reached the archway, “No, he won’t. He’ll hate me,” she laughed bitterly, “That’s my sacrifice. I’ll lose his love and trust, but at least I kept him safe,” and with one last look to the irate mother, she said, “Goodbye, Diana,”

* * *

The night had fallen around the city of Brooklyn in the early hours of the afternoon. The record player from the apartment below the Rogers’ played a song as quiet and grainy as the old Victorian photographs Sarah’s mother use to show her when growing up. The apartment around her was dark save for the lone lamp on her bedside table, keeping the room illuminated as Sarah’s mind raced with thoughts from where she laid on the bed still in her torn dress. Diana had left hours ago, doing Steven the first good deed in his life by being gone by the time the nurse brought the boy back home.

Her boy held his arm to his chest the entire time, apologizing for being his age and captivated by curiosity. He sniffed and pouted for the entire time that she bandaged his arm - avoiding making eye contact with James who stood guarded at the doorway. Sarah had figured the boy was crying partly from the fear and partly due to the embarrassment of crying in front of his best friend. Both Rogers’ didn’t look any of the Barnes’ in the eye that night.

Besides, Winnie was too occupied with fixing her family dinner and discussing her day with George.

Sarah groaned into her hands, the ceiling panels suddenly too overwhelming to stare at. God, she had no idea what she was doing. One minute she’s being the perfect mother, the next she’s leaving her son alone with a near stranger, and then all the sudden she’s threatening a Goddess with bodily harm. She could just hear Joseph laughing at her from Heaven, flashing her that crooked tooth that was visible when he smiled.

“Laugh it up,” she said to no one in particular alive, “You married this mess,”

“Momma?” Sarah sat up from the pillows, spotting Steven standing at the doorway with his wrapped arm stiff against his body. He was rubbing his eye with his uninjured hand. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Although Sarah had been firm on making sure that Steven wasn’t growing too attached to her for fear of how society perceived a gentle man, the day’s events had left her worn down to the point where only holding someone in that moment could recharge her. She smiled. “Of course, my sunshine boy,”

The words hadn’t even left her mouth before she suddenly had a bony body pressed against her side, legs spread out on the comforter as he leaned his back against Sarah’s chest. The way they fell into a comfortable position spoke to their bond. Sarah wrapped an arm around him, the other cupping the side of his head as her fingers scratched his head. Steven felt a tad warm, but it could’ve been from coming down from his earlier hysteria. Nothing to worry about.

“Momma?”

“Steven?”

“Um, can you tell me a story?,” he muttered, blue eyes wide and innocent staring up at Sarah. Ah, how could she forget his bedtime story. The fairytale book was in Steven’s room, though, and she’d be damned if she got up from the one place Sarah knew she could keep her son safe. They were halfway through Alice in Wonderland - a story that the child in her arms was completely in love with, with drawings dedicated to the different characters Alice came across. He told her once that Alice herself was his favorite. ‘ _She’s small like me, but then she gets big! I want to be big too!’_

She held him a little closer, hoping he’d never get bigger. Boys are beautiful humans who love freely and cherish the small things in life, but men are terrible creatures that have been twisted by the world to becoming cruel enough to start wars where wars were not needed. Her fingers paused in his hair, drifting down to press her hand against his forehead in a protective instinct that she never knew she had. 

The thoughts of a story for Steven jumped around in her head. There were so many that told such important messages, yet they didn't seem to stand out against the one her mother told her on a night like that one; a night shrouded by the darkness of the sky and the soul. It was one of her favorites, right next to the story of the beast and the beauty. She chewed on her words for a moment, then spoke:

“Once upon a time, there lived a young prince,” she started, and Steven became lax in her arms, “He grew up alone, for his father was too busy running the kingdom to play with the prince. The only companion the prince possessed was swans and his stories. Stories of mighty kings that traveled the world in swan drawn carriages, arriving to far off lands to share his wealth and rescue those in need. The prince dreamed of one day becoming a great king to his subjects, governing the land from a throne inside a castle that looked straight out of one of his stories. The years went by, and the prince grew up, but the land deteriorated as his kingdom was taken from him by evil sorcerers. The prince was now a puppet king. He was nothing like the kings in his stories. One day, while walking on the bank of a lake, he came across a beautiful swan. It’s feathers were tipped with gold, and it wore a crown made of the freshest blossoms. ‘Oh, beautiful swan,’ he said, ‘I wish to be a real king, just like in the books I read as a child. But I am weak, I cannot fight the sorcerers myself’. The swan replied, ‘Golden boy, I shall gift you the strength of ten men, but in return I ask that you dedicate your life to helping those in need and never bring a plague upon your subjects,’.

The boy agreed, and the swan said, ‘Ethereal boy, drink from the water of the lake and you shall have the strength to be a mighty king.’ And he did. He grew strong and tall-”

“Like Alice?” Steven asked from her side, “Is the water like the cakes that made her big?”

“In a way. The cakes made Alice grow to be very, very tall, but the water from the lake only made him powerful enough to defeat the sorcerer’s. He ran, and ran, until the soles of his feet were worn down and he arrived to the castle that he remembered from his youth. He fought off the sorcerer's that met him at the gates of the castle, thanks to the strength that the swan granted him. Though he didn’t kill them,”

“Why, Momma?”

“Because it would make him just as bad as the sorcerers. They, too, were once his subjects. And he had promised the swan that he would not bring a plague upon his subjects. He told them from the tallest step from the tallest tower, ‘I am your king. May you never cower to the ground in my presence, for you are not beneath me. May you never be fearful by the sight of me, for the sight of you brings me great joy. May you never see me as just a king, but as a good man.’ He lived in the castle from then on, naming it Neuschwanstein, meaning ‘New Swanstone Castle’. And he lived happily ever after,”

“Momma?”

“Steven?”

“I want to be strong just like the prince,” he coughed, nuzzling impossibly closer to his mother, “Like you said. Strong like ten men,”

Sarah chuckled, “Do you want to know a secret, my sunshine boy?” she continued, “Strength comes from within you. The king needed the strength to stand up to those- those _bullies_ . But you, Steven, already have the strength of a _million_ men,”

She pressed her fingers into the little boy’s stomach, tickling him briefly to get a nice laugh out of her baby. She squeezed him close, earning a squeal of joy that erased the echoes of Steven’s screaming only hours prior. “Momma! Momma!” he giggled, “Stop! I have to tell you something important!”

“Oh no, you sound serious,” Sarah smiled, nodding for him to continue. Steven scratched behind his neck, cheeks turning pink.

“Don’t tell Auntie Diana, but, I like your cookies more,” his face was screwed up in disgust, “The other ones were yucky,”

The blonde boy yawned loudly after his declaration, eyes dropping every once in a while. His skin gave a slight glow that Sarah knew wasn’t from the lamplight. She thanked every God and Saint she could think of for blessing her with this child, her miracle boy. Her golden crowned prince. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, soft like a lullaby yet strong like a prayer. She kissed his head, “I love you more than anything in the entire world,”

Steven shifted until he was curled up against her front, legs tucked in and uninjured hand loosely holding onto her hand. His eyes finally came to a close in a flutter of ridiculously long eyelashes. Mouth fell open to allow more air, but he managed to speak through the haze of sleep.

“I love you too, Momma,” and the night was barren - just her and her sunshine boy against the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah's story comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by _Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again!_ aliurhaiuhrg I'm really sorry guys 

_ “The artist in you strikes again,”  _

_ Smiling, Sarah turned around to come face to face with her lover. His skin was a healthy tan color from a full day of lounging near the shore of the lake the day before, warm and soft when he wrapped his arms around her middle. Joseph’s lips moved from one shoulder to the other and finally came to rest his chin against the crook of her shoulder and neck. The dog tags around his neck were cold against her back in a lovely contrast.  _

_ They were spending Joseph’s last days in England before training camp by using his grandfather’s lake house in Ambleside. The house was a beautiful cottage that overlooked the waterfront, sat upon a bed of wisteria flowers and forget-me-nots that Sarah couldn’t help herself. The painting in front of her stood unfinished with just the trees painted in strokes of chocolate brown and emerald green and the outline of the waterbed near them. She still needed to paint the flowers both in and out of the water. The pristine swans would be added last. “Well, I wanted to leave it as a gift for your grandfather for letting us stay here” she said, tilting her head against the soldier’s, “Perhaps I’ll add in a couple sunbathing by the lake,”  _

_ “Uh-huh. You know I love your art, but I hardly doubt we can leave a painting of us naked for Grandpa Grant,” he chuckled, breathe light against her bare skin, “You’ll give him a heart attack,”  _

_Sarah gasped, dabbing a line of green across Joseph’s forehead in retaliation. “You know that’s not what I meant!” she huffed, “Why do you have to ruin a perfectly innocent thing?”_

_ The brunette man danced away with a squak of disgust, wiping at his forehead with a huge grin on his face. He grabbed at the maroon blanket that was the only thing preserving Sarah’s modesty in the chilly morning air, though the nurse held onto the cloth tightly with a small yelp. She tried to narrow her eyes at him, small smile on her lips because nothing this man could do in the moment would ever be to hurt her. Not when she knows that he is completely head over heels for her - her dazzling boyfriend. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” she joked, dipping her brush on the dollop of green before returning to adding the fine details on the hanging vines from on of the trees over the lake.  _

_ Joseph leaned against the white railing with a hip, overlooking the scene that Sarah was currently painting, cigarette between his lips. He’s blocking her view of the beautiful landscape, but Sarah thought he was perhaps even more gorgeous than the blooming flowers. Her charcoal pencil called her like a siren, enticing her to sketch out a quick outline of the man before her into the painting. Childhood scars, dusted freckles, tousled hair - all of who Joseph Rogers is.  _

_ She sketched quickly, grateful for the fact that Joseph was distracted by his matches enough that he didn’t dare move a muscle from the pose he was keeping against the fence around the porch. She had just gotten done drawing the basic shapes of the man when he looked up from the match to smile at her, and said, “I have some news to share,”  _

_ “Oh, dammit,” she mused, “Did my husband send you a letter?”  _

_ Throwing his head back, Joseph let out a laugh that shook his whole body just for her stupid joke. She loved this man. “No, no. I … forget it, it’s not important,” his jaw clenched as he moved the cigarette away from his lips. The embers were discarded on the pristine white paint of the fence that left a smudged black stain that Sarah thought looked a lot like bird in flight. A raven etched into the lake house until the next fall of rain wipes it away like nothing. Sarah smirked.  _

_ “What? Tell me,” she hummed, turning back to sketch the intricate details of Joseph’s torso and smile. “What could you possibly tell me that could ruin this vacation?”  _

_ Joseph was quiet, the only sound around them being the slow intake of smoke and the excessive chirping of a tanager. The water lapping against itself lulled Sarah into a deep sense of ease that was only achieved when she was around Joseph or her grandmother. It was like being wrapped up in the arms of an angel. She lost herself in the English scenery that could not compare to that of Ireland, yet still held its own beauty in a way that was similar yet so different. England held an ancient beauty that radiated absolute idyllic fantasies while Ireland had a quiet panoramic which lured you in with whispers of magic and mist. Years from now, this will be her happy place. The perfect spot to remember and become one with nature as the Lord intended.  _

_ Watching the wind blow through the hanging leaves, Sarah didn’t notice that Joseph was once again behind her. His arms were around her once more, his body against her bare back, his lips soft on her skin. Those lips ventured and tickled her neck, making her buck slightly and giggle, but he held her tight with a chuckle before he whispered into her ear - softer than any muse or fae, “Marry me,” _

_ Sarah turned fast to stare at Joseph with wide eyes, “What did you just say?”.  _

_ “Marry me, Sarah MacCarthaigh,” he said in a devilish drawl, “You’re it for me, dove, I love you more than anything,”  _

_ She could feel his heart racing from where it was pressed against her, thumping a song so old and timeless. A song that knew no notes, no orchestra, no limits. Their hearts were in perfect harmony. He pressed a kiss on her temple, a loving gesture that she could never get sick of. Voice low, Joseph begged her for an answer in a manner than a drowning man begged for salvation.  _

_ Though, then again; _

_ “You asshole!” she cried out, smile wide in disbelief as she jumped from her stool to hit him playfully, “You can’t just propose to me while I’m naked! That isn’t romantic!”  _

_ Joseph laughed, cigarette long gone from his lips. He grabbed hold of her forearm, twirling her like he did the night they met, and pulled her close to his body. His forehead against her, she felt lighter than the clouds above. “How about I make it up to you with the most romantic wedding in history?” he hummed, hands closing around her own as they swayed to the music of nature around them.  _

_ “Mm. I want a pearly white dress with pearls,”  _

_ “Of course,”  _

_ “And I want it to be in Ireland,” she whispered to Joseph’s lips, “I want both our families to sit all together. No sides. Just family,”  _

_ “Ambitious thinking,”  _

_ Joseph leaned down to kiss Sarah, but found that her slim finger was pressed up against the plush lips of her lover. She moved backwards enough so that she was a good half a foot from man. “One more condition,”  _

_ “Anything, dove,”  _

_ “I’ll marry you only if you promise to come back,” her voice shuttered involuntarily; it forced her to pause long enough to steady the trembling in her, “You have to promise you’ll come back to me, Joseph Grant Rogers, I’m not going to be a widow,”  _

_The tanagers chirped loudly and cheerfully. Joseph kissed her finger as if it was glass. “I promise to you and God, I’ll come back to you,” he sighed, “I will always come back to you. You’re it for me. I’d be the luckiest man alive for just the chance to grow old with you, dove. We’ll get a nice house out in New York City, big enough for a whole horde of kids. We’ll work like mad, you and I, but it’ll be worth every second. But most of all, I see us old and gray, sitting in the kitchen bickering over the most senseless things. You are my dream, Sarah,”_

_ Sarah’s heart soured, surging up on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to her boyfriend’s -  _ fiancee’s  _ \- lips. She was aware, vaguely, that Joseph was sliding a ring onto her ring finger. The feel of the cold metal on her finger made it feel a tad bit off, but the way the modest diamond sparkled in the morning sunshine around them casted a rainbow over every surface was well-worth it. “As long as you come back,” she said, “Just promise me you’ll come back to me,” _

_ “You have my word, Sarah Rogers,” he smiled like Icarus. Sweet Icarus with wings of promises and youthful beauty. The foolish boy who overestimated his wings, and perished in the sea alone while his loved one was forced to live on without him. It was a smile of a man who was flying too close to the sun and would burn to a crisp without even the foggiest idea of what was happening, “I love you, dove,”  _

_ The painting was finished that afternoon, and it stayed there in the abandoned lake house long after its last guests left in a cloud of happiness. Last Sarah heard, the lake house had gotten the reputation of being haunted by the ghost of a young man with the sun on his face and a picture of his wife between blistered fingers seen in the painting once made on a sunny morning. She didn’t believe in ghosts, only angels with wings of gold.  _

_ The morning she found the officer outside the apartment she was renting in London during her medical training, the world became dark and barren. The thunderous clouds rolled to cover the entire sky and a purge of rain showered down upon the heads of the English while a young Irish woman screamed on the floor of her kitchen.  _

_ Three days later, Sarah woke up to a bloodstained massacre under her blankets and an empty womb.  _

_Two months later, she’s holding her new son in her arms, rocking him in a wooden chair that a tenant left behind in a makeshift nursery from items the other mothers in the building had donated to her. She sang him a lullaby as he coos in her arms, a life long dream finally realized. She’s not alone. For the first time in a very long time, Sarah Rogers found herself surrounded by love and happiness that filled her heart to grow three times it’s normal size. She kissed his brow and muttered her love to the sunshine boy._

* * *

 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rogers!” 

The bags were heavy in her arms, brown paper bags filled with the cheap produce that Sarah had managed to charm her way into getting from the grocer down the road. A years long crush that served her well when needing to provide substantial food for Steven - especially when he comes down with one hell of a fever like he has now. By the time she arrived to the steps of the building, her breath was in pants when the young man on the stoop greeted her with a smile that has lately been the talk of the young women in the shop.

James Buchanan Barnes had long since grown out of his energetic youth and into a strapping man that his father took pride in showing off in every way possible. Though he still sported baby fat on his cheeks, the rest of James had become hard and toned from working down at the docks heaving boxes to and fro on strong legs that had rarely buckled. Seventeen years old and sharp as a tack, George was already grooming the boy to one day inherit the Barnes family business of mass produced farm goods that was started several generations before James. It seemed that only Sarah and Steven knew that it won’t happen, not when the curly haired boy’s eyes looked to growing Goliath structures of New York with a shine and kept talking Steven’s ear off about the different kinds of buildings around the world. It was a secret best kept between the three of them.

Now, the young man sat with his arm holding the railing in a white knuckled grip. Face flushed and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, legs spread out in front of him with books at his side when he flashed Sarah the million dollar smile. “I was just on my way up to give Stevie his homework,” he said, voice tight, “Heat got to my head a little. Just … just takin’ a breather,”

Her heart bled for the young man. Both boys have found out quick that the world looked down on those who weren’t born completely healthy. Being cut from a different cloth than the other boys in the neighborhood, it only strengthened their bond to one that Sarah has never had the pleasure of experiencing in her own lifetime. The only thing that set James and Steven apart was that while the Jewish boy’s legs buckled every so often, Steven’s disabilities and illnesses only seemed to add on as the years went by. Scarlet Fever, asthma, color blindness, heart arrhythmia … if it exists in a medical book, Steven has probably had it a few times.

While Steven chose to accept his ailments and learned to live despite them, though, James adopted the philosophy of denial.

Though Sarah knew it wasn’t just James’ philosophy. Not from the way Winifred and George kept pushing to boy to join any sport both in and out of school.

Sarah adjusted her grip on the groceries. “I see that. It is awfully hot today,” A pause. “In fact, I’m completely drenched from just walking to the supermarket. Would you be a dear and carry the groceries upstairs?” 

James panted a tad less harshly, swallowing as he pulled himself up on strong arms. He stood up on shaky legs, though he quickly covered it up locking his knees to avoid any suspicious. The books came up with him. “Of course. It would be my honor to have a beautiful woman such as yourself on my arm,” James winked, childishly and teasingly that Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. His arm intertwined with her own, leaning some of his weight on her for support as they made their way slowly to the stairs.

Hard times had befallen the building in the last couple of years. What once was a shiny and polished home with bright light became a den of sorts that chased any rays of sunshine to swallow in the darkness. Tenants moved out, new ones moved in. Sarah had lost track of who remained, the only ones she could count on on remaining in the complex was the Barnes’. They had a talk about moving to a larger home when their home had turned into a near circus with baby number three, but the Depression crashed into the company like a bulldozer and left them with no choice other to remain in the building alongside Sarah and Steven. 

James had to give up his room, but he didn’t seem all that broken up considering that he still got to live just a staircase away from his best friend. 

“How is he, by the way?” James asked quietly, sweat dripping once more down his temple. 

“Still the same as yesterday. He’s eating, so it’s a good sign,” 

James hummed in agreement, brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed through whatever pain he was currently in. Their steps were loud in the empty floor, slow and tedious as they tried to make their way to the second floor. Suddenly, the stairs looked like mountains. They walked in silence until James spoke once more. “Mamma wants to me to get crutches,” he said, face twisted bitterly, “I don’t need ‘em,”

“Need them, or want them?” 

The boy tightened his jaw, joint popping under his olive skin. He didn’t talk for the rest of the journey up to the apartment, saying nothing as if he didn’t know how. The sweat dried by the time they reached the door, and he took the groceries in his hands as he stood there on strong legs while Sarah searched her purse for the key. 

Opening the door, a sense of happiness settled over her tired bones when she spotted Steven sitting on the couch with a notebook open to a blank page. At sixteen, her boy hadn’t grown to be quite the stature that the other young men his age possessed. He stood about a head shorter than James, and only an inch taller than Sarah herself. His thin body refused to put on any more meat, leaving him seen by most as a lesser man, but she knew he could have any woman he wanted if he just learned to subdue his natural urge to be unbelievably stubborn. Be it that she was his mother, Sarah couldn’t understand why he spoke so lowly about his looks. He was truly every bit as beautiful as Diana, with a dash of stoic features from what Sarah believed was perhaps from Steven Senior. Just sitting by the window in the living room, he was surrounded by warmth and light. Pale skin that illuminated slightly if one looked hard enough, dark bruises painting a sharp contrast on his skin from his last scuffle, dotted freckles that would no doubt multiply once he’s well enough to go outside. The scar on his arm was smaller than it once was, though the guilt that it brought her still stayed the same weight. 

“Steven, you’re supposed to be in bed,” she tsked, motioning for James to set the groceries on the kitchen counter, “There’s plenty of light in there to draw,” 

Steven shrugged, flushed face still looking down at the notebook. “It was  _ stuffy _ ,” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “And I’m running out of ideas of what to draw in there,” 

James set the groceries on the counter so lightly that Sarah didn’t even hear it, just the slight vibrations of the taller boy’s footsteps as he approached the couch to lean over Steven’s notebook. He smiled, and when he spoke near the shell of the blonde’s ear, she noticed the slight goosebumps that erupted on her son’s skin, “You should draw Patty Mae Jones from school,” James chuckled, “She looked  _ stunning  _ today in class,”

Steven swallowed thickly, bangs moving towards his flushed face as he adjusted himself to better turn his back on his only friend. “‘M not gonna draw somethin’ out of a nine-pager, Buck!” Steve said, “That’s gross. I wanna draw something - I don’t know - classy, ya know? Like those Italian painters,” 

“Oh, man,” James snapped his fingers, “You should draw that hot aunt of yours. What was her name? Something with a ‘D’,” 

“Ew! What’s the matter with you? She’s your mom’s age!” 

“Not in that way, you mook!” Sarah smiled as the boys bickered, “I mean like a portrait of her,” 

The exchange went back and forth, between Steven pointing out how terrible James’s taste in women was and James protesting that Diana was attractive. It’s a discussion they’ve always had - a repeated argument that held no heat and was mainly brought up by the brunette to rile Steven up when he was sick. It usually ended within seconds. 

Steven shoved his friend, sending the young man toppling over with a loud protest on the hardwood flooring. Sarah was just about to chastise him when James opened his mouth. “Ya know, for a skinny guy, you’re really strong,” 

The smirk on Steven’s lips was brilliant, the first flash of teeth she’d seen since they realized he had contracted yet another fever. Besides, James didn’t seem to have taken the push to heart, instead moving back up on the couch to peer over the notebook. Sarah could tell by the way the pencil moved over the page that he was starting to draw the basic shape of a young feminine face.

Sarah wasn’t stupid. She started seeing how Steven stared longingly at the young girls that walked past them on the street, gliding on kitten heels and a cloud of sweet perfume while they giggled among themselves. Eventually, her little boy was going to find a nice young girl and introduce her to Sarah … the problem was that the nurse was terrified of what that might entail. She’d been only a couple years older than Steven when she had her first boyfriend - a meek and boring pastor’s son that barely spoke a few words to her the entire month they dated. She remembered breaking off the relationship the moment the weasel laid a hand on her breast, resulting in a broken finger that wasn’t any of hers. She doesn’t want her boy to grow up to be one of those kind of men. A man who thought he had a claim or right to a woman simply because she allowed him to take her on a date. In seventeen years, she hoped that she was able to instill a strong respect for women in her son. Opening a door, listening to her interests, complimenting her intelligence, they were all things she hoped Steven had memorized from their midnight chats over cold dinners. 

It’s things like those that first attracted her to the wild foreign man that was Joseph Rogers. The way he would hold her hand every chance he got, crooked smile that shone on the darkest days while she rambled about the frustration of medical training. While most men did things to impress a lady enough to peek under her dress, Joseph seemed to do all that and more because he genuinely loved doing them. Picking wildflowers from the side of the road in the middle of a heavy downpour, showing up at her doorstep completely soaked but smiling as he said, “ _ The lilies reminded me of you,” -  _ that’s the kind of man he was. 

And although she knew Joseph wasn’t Steven’s real father, Sarah couldn’t help but hope that her son would inherit her husband’s devotion. 

She’s just about halfway done with putting the groceries away when she noticed that Steven and James were no longer in the living room. The notebook was discarded on the couch, and the voices from both young men were muffled from behind the closed door of Steven’s bedroom. Now was a good time as any to star getting supper underway before she had to head out to work. 

Sarah settled on a dish that didn’t require many ingredients, choosing to save most of the groceries to last them a bit more than a day. It didn’t take long to get it all together and push it into the oven with a cautious nudge, turning her grandmother’s hourglass upside down to count down the minutes until it was ready. 

The moments in which Sarah had to herself were precious. It was too painful to hang photos of her first love, too many memories tied to each and every picture taken. Over the years, Sarah found herself forgetting certain details that she once committed to memory. Like the mole that he had near his eye - was it on the right or left? Was the tattoo of a cross on his bicep or chest? The image of her young husband was blurred with that of the blistered dead soldier. Though she did keep his photos in a box stashed deep in her closet, nuzzled right under the yellowing wedding dress that has since become a feast for moths. They were untouched - to remain so until a historian would one day find them and come to the conclusion that the young couple in the photos lived long and happy lives side by side. It was a secret hope that a stranger in decades from now would write Joseph a happier ending. 

Nevertheless, tucked in an envelope in a heavy medical book, Sarah pulled out the letter Joseph wrote her when they were still only dating. The words were meaningless now, unfulfilled promises and shattered hopes, but it protected the only photo of a crooked smile that she allowed herself to keep alongside the pressed rose from their first date. Besides Steven, it was the most precious thing in her life. 

Her cheek felt wet, so she wiped it with her sleeve cuff before making her way to Steven’s room to let the boys know that supper was ready. She probably should’ve knocked before entering the room, but all rational thought slipped her mind as she turned the handle to open the pristine white door. 

“Boys, supp-” was all she managed to get out. She froze. 

Steven and James’ eyes were as big as dinner plates, both flushed red and lips shining in the sunlight as they broke apart. They were only mere inches away from one another, leaving nothing to the imagination of what was happening in the room. James was the first of the three to move, looking over at the other boy with his mouth shaping around words, yet nothing came out. He jumped up. “I … uh, I’ll see you later, Steve,” he muttered, wiping his lips. The taller of the two pushed past Sarah without a glance, swiftly exiting the apartment to leave mother and son to bask in the awkwardness of the situation. 

Sarah opened her mouth to speak next, yet all that she could manage to get out was “Go wash up, supper is on the table,” and then retreating to the kitchen with hurried steps. There were a million thoughts running through her head, most involving around fear and confusion as she kept replaying the image over and over. The gentle misplacement of lips against each other in a kiss that was obviously both their first and graceless. It was horrible. They were too young to know what society would do to the two; a beast with an endless appetite to rip apart any semblance of diversity that came even near it. Homosexuals were seen as filthy, pedophilic, and disgraceful. Her boy was anything but those words - Hell, he’s a descendant of a Goddess, divinity poured into his veins and light illuminating from his skin. 

_ Christ _ , what’s Diana going to say upon Steven’s eighteenth birthday? A woman raised on an island inhabited by females and females only, there no doubt has been sapphic interaction between a couple of Amazons, right? Or did the religious law also tether them to not seek out pleasure and love from anyone other than a male? It didn’t matter what Amazons did or didn’t do, her son was just kissing another man. Both sexes that were greatly frowned upon in Themyscira. 

Sarah was so over her head, and there’s really nothing she could do about it. Her only hope was to get Steven to feel comfortable enough to talk to her about these feelings and emotions. When the door of the bathroom opened, however, whatever stradegy she had in mind suddenly turned to dust and left her speachless. 

Steven shuffled out of the bathroom with his head hung, taking a seat across his mother. He sat with his eyes tracing the patterns on the old wood - blinking heavily as if he were to fall asleep at any moment. The soft sounds of the world outside the window filled the silence, though it didn’t mask how incredibly loud the clanking of the chipped porcelain bowl being set in front of Steven. She winced. Her son didn’t even so much as twitch. Could it be from his partial deafness or mortification, she had no idea. 

The two ate in the quietness of the fading afternoon, golden light filtering through the windows. Steven had only taken a few spoonful into his mouth in the span of the time it took for Sarah to almost completely finish her own bowl. Finally, she broke the silence. “I tried something different. The recipe called for liver, but I know how you despised having to eat it as a child, do you remember?” she got no reply back. “I used beef this time. Not quite the same taste. Next time I want to try using cooked liver. Would you eat it if it was cooked? I promise to drown it in salt if it mask-”

“Are you disgusted with me, Ma?” 

Sarah sighed. She was the one that initiated the conversation to try and get Steven to speak, but now she regretted it. Time to face the music, she was going to have to actually talk through these emotions now. Joseph Rogers was somewhere up in the Heavens, laughing his ass off at her. The blonde set her spoon down, intertwining her fingers together and resting her chin upon them. Her mother’s voice chastised her for having elbows on the table - she didn’t care. 

“I’m not  _ disgusted _ ,” she started, “I- … It’s a shock, is all,” 

Steven leaned back in his chair with a sour twist to his lips, sucking on his teeth in an almost challenging way. His eyes never met Sarah’s, knowing that she knew him inside and out - save for the homoerotic tendencies, apparently. His arms crossed over his bony chest. He nodded to show that he could hear her just fine. “It shocked me too,” he said, “Buck kissed me first, if that makes you feel better,” 

She’s really not shocked. Seventeen was a lovely age for girls in which they were allowed liberty to doll themselves up, for boys it was an age of understanding urges that weren’t there before. “It doesn’t. I don’t need you to make me feel better, Steven, I need you to talk to me,” 

“About?” 

“About your feelings. Did you …” she shrugged with puckered lips, “ … like it? Hate it? Talk to me, love,” 

Wiping his hands down his face, Steve lifted those gorgeous blue eyes towards the ceiling. It stung, seeing that her son didn’t trust her enough to look her in the eyes when he spoke. “There’s not a whole lot’a girls linin’ up to kiss me, Ma. Look at me. No one wants a fella that she might step on,” he sighs, “Buck … he has all these girls that really like ‘im. He can have _ any  _ girl from school, but he chose  _ me  _ to be his first kiss. Said he trusted me. It was … Ma, it was the most magical moment of my life,” Sarah nodded for him to continue. “I really liked it. I’m so sorry, but I did,” 

Sarah didn’t say anything, her mind swirling to the dizziness she felt the first time she kissed Joseph. Every time she kissed Joseph. There hadn’t been one kiss, one peck, that didn’t leave her weak in the knees for the man. Seventeen years later, and she still remembered what it was like to feel the gentle press of a lover’s soft lips against her own. The rush, the passion, the adoration. Joseph poured all his feelings into a simple good morning kiss. For the few years they were together, he didn’t even leave a single ounce of doubt in her mind that he was completely gone on her. 

“What did it feel like?” 

Tears shun in Steven’s eyes when he looked into hers. “It felt like love. Like in the stories you would tell me about Dad. Everything just seemed … to melt away.,” 

That’s the kicker, isn’t it? That’s the whole secret to the universe that philosophers have poured centuries to discover; loving someone too much will only result in suffering. She loved Joseph with every fiber in her being, and it wasn’t enough to stop the gas on the battlefield. She hoped that Steven wouldn’t have to go through this, at least not for a few more years to when he was matured. All hopes lies in fruitless efforts, she supposed. 

“What are you really feeling right now?” 

A dam broke somewhere within the boy, and a cascade of tears leaked out onto his gentle face. His breath hitched dangerously, thin shoulders shaking from holding it in too long. “I-I think I love him, Ma. I’m so sorry. Please,  _ please _ forgive me,” 

Pushing her seat back, Sarah flung her arms around her son in a tight embrace. She committed the way his skin felt under her fingertips to her memory, the way the slight shine that came from it felt warm despite how someone with her son’s blood circulation would be chilled. Steven grabbed onto her as tight as he could, strong in a way that he shouldn’t be. He was small, overlooked by so many that he even overlooked himself, but there was so much to her boy that made him one thousand times more of a man than any bastard with muscles. He was everything to her. Her one true love. 

She pulled away and kneeled at his feet as if he were a king. Her hands cupped the sharpness of his jaw, framing his reddened face like a golden portrait. Tears leaked down his cheeks in succession with his hitched breaths, and she used her thumb to wipe them away. “Steven Grant Rogers, look at me,” she said firmly, only speaking again when his eyes met hers, “You are my flesh and blood. There is  _ nothing _ you can do that will be unforgivable to me,” 

“B-but-” 

“Deep breaths, baby boy,”

“How can you possibly understand?”

Wiping away Steven’s tears distracted her from her own salty tears, a painted sorry sight of two lone souls crying in the heart of Brooklyn. “I don’t understand. I never will. Steven, I’m not supposed to understand, because my love for you is not rooted in understanding. I love you unconditionally and endlessly,” 

“What would people think? They already think I’m  _ bad, _ ”

“ _ Fuck _ what people think! You’re my son, damnit, and we Rogers’ don’t take shit from no one,” 

“ _ Ma _ !” he squeaked, giggling under his breath. Sarah joined in despite her tears, bringing his face closer until both their foreheads were pressed up against each other. She closed her eyes and breathed in their bond. She understood, now, why Diana was so hellbent on being a good mother. It wasn’t because she felt an obligation to the child she birthed, but because the connection between a child and its mother was so  _ powerful _ . It was a drug, addicting and euphoric whenever they were together. Even being gone for longer than a few hours felt like a gaping hole in your heart - Sarah couldn’t imagine what it was like for Diana to be so far from Steven for almost two decades. Being a mother was both the hardest and freeing thing Sarah had ever faced. 

It took all her might to pull away, kissing him on the forehead with a loud smack that earned a disgusted yelp from the boy. “‘M not a little kid, ya know,” 

“Oh, nonsense,” Sarah smiled, “You’ll always be a little kid stuffing newspaper into your shoes to me,” 

He looked down at his lap, licking his lips. His body language shifted from relaxed to slightly tense. “You and Dad … you really loved each other, right?” 

“Loved him enough to marry him,” 

“Then why aren’t there any photos of him up?” his eyes danced around the walls and shelves of the apartment, scanning each and every frame as if one of them held the secrets to becoming an emperor, “There’s Nana, and  _ Mamó,  _ but I don’t even know what Dad even  _ looks _ like,” 

Sarah sighed once more. How could she describe this in a way that someone so young could understand? “You’re so young and new to love, Steven. I hope that you never have to know what it’s like to lose someone you love so much,” 

Steven nodded and dropped the subject. He returned to his supper, eating it a faster rate than before. Sarah, meanwhile, stood up and dusted off her skirt with an eye looking towards the clock on the counter near the stove. It was about a quarter past six, giving her a good fifteen minutes to wash up before she had to report at the hospital. Thankfully she had the foresight of putting on her nursing uniform before leaving for the market - save for her apron and cap, of course. “Well, I’d say that’s enough emotions for today,” she chimed, “Don’t get up until you finish your supper, young man. I’m going to go get ready for work,”

“Yes, Ma,” 

* * *

Arriving to St. Raphael Hospital, Sarah was breathless from the rushed paced she had to keep if she wanted to make her shift on time. There was already a leniency that her superiors allowed her since many of her coworkers vouched for her impeccable bedside manner and on account of her son’s many illnesses, but she didn’t want to push her luck too far by being unnecessarily late to relieve one of the nurses. The tiled floors made her shoes clack loudly as she entered the front doors, hand digging into her purse for her rogue lipstick. She knew she had seen it only a minute before leaving the house … 

“Evening, Sarah!” 

The nurse jumped with a slight gasp, hand on her chest as she opened her eyes to come face to face with Nurse Jenny Lee. One of the newer hires, she was a sweet girl that kept an air of professionalism and politeness that was often the main point of jealousy among the other nurses in the hospital. From what she told Sarah, Jenny was a midwife that transferred from a small nunnery in Poplar, England - a town that the blonde remembered from when she lived in England all those years ago - and had chosen to instead care for the elderly in their final years. The slow hours of the night were often filled with stories she would tell the other nurse about all the friends she missed from Nonnatus House. Sarah liked hearing all the strange patients and babies Jenny had encountered, though she did feel bad at how unfortunate it was that someone willingly went by the name of  _ Chummy _ . “Hello, Jenny,”

Today, Jenny had a spring in her step as she fumbled with her scarlet cardigan, fixing her hair to better tuck under the pristine cap on her head. “I just got here myself, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you how everyone is feeling today,” she said, smiling at Sarah as she fell into step with the other woman, “Word around hospital is that we’re getting a new ward. I think it’s a marvelous idea, don’t you think?” 

“What for? Unless they hire more nurses, we’ll be stretched thinner than a strand of hair,” Sarah rolled her eyes, handing her purse to Jenny, “We’re already working ourselves ragged, mind you,” 

Jenny swung Sarah’s bag absentmindedly as she watched the other woman pull on her own cardigan, silently thanking a young man for holding the door to the stairwell open for the two. She seemed to think about Sarah’s response for a long moment before saying, “I suppose you’re right. I left Nonnatus House because I wanted to leave midwifery and they have me working in both the birthing  _ and _ elderly ward,” 

The two chatted more about work, quipping complains to one another about their jobs as if they’d ever leave it. Becoming a nurse was hard enough with the judgement that came upon them from society deeming them as spinsters or too ugly to marry a man to support them, they didn’t need to be proving the onlookers right by quitting the only profession that held some prestige for women. The conversation only halted when Jenny laid a delicate hand on Sarah’s arm. 

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, how is your son?” 

_ He’s a disabled homosexual in love with his best friend and in two years, he’s going to learn that not only am I his adopted mother, but also that he’s the son of a Goddess.  _ “Better. His fever should be expected to break any second now,” 

Jenny smiled with a head tilt. “That’s good to hear,” she sang, “I was worried that the weather might keep him down for longer,” 

“No, he’s far too stubborn to be pushed down by a mere fever,” 

Both laughed as they arrived to their floor, hands reaching for the time cards that rested in the small cubby labeled with their names. The other nurses starting their shifts made quick to punch in their cards and slot it back into the proper place, greeting Dr. Moor from his place at the desk near the slots. He hummed back the same greetings, never once looking up from his chart until Sarah reached over to punch her card in. 

“Just a moment, Nurse Rogers,” he piped up, looking up at her from over his specs, “It seems that you have been transferred,” 

Jenny’s face screwed up unpleasantly, leaning forward as if she didn’t understand what Dr. Moor said. Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Transferred? Dr. Moor, I’ve been working in this ward for years, where could I possibly be transferred to?” 

Dr. Moor sighed heavily, a few more wrinkles setting into what once was a meek and shy face. He adjusted his coat and position on the chair, scanning the names on the list in front of him with a finger before stopping on one in particular. 

“Now, now, don’t shoot the messenger, Rogers,” he turned the chart to face her, finger still pointing at her name written neatly on the line with a small footnote next to it. “You’re being transferred to the tuberculosis ward on the fifth floor. A nurse up there will settle you in, don’t worry,” 

* * *

The sun was getting real low over the New York sky, and Sarah knew that she wouldn’t live to see it come back up.

Two years. It’s been a long journey, full of bloodied handkerchiefs and painful chest convulsions. Who knew that simply transferring up three more floors would effectively be signing her own death certificate? Who knew, who knew, who knew. 

It was all in the past now. There’s nothing Sarah could do about it; she was just a simple Irish girl with a fascination for art. In her eyes, she has lived a good life full of love and struggles, loss and gain, miracles and damnation. She married a beautiful man, and experienced a love that would limitless in motherhood. There had been many patients that had taken the time to visit her at home, bringing gifts of pink carnations and lovely chrysanthemums - pulling up the wooden chair by her bed and sitting to reminisce about their hospital days of which Sarah didn’t remember at all.  They bring with them words of encouragement, gratitude, and we’ll-see-each-other-soon’s. 

Winifred and her children often visited too, always holding a new dish in her hands, faking a smile on her lips. She’d sit on the bed, knit, and talk about all the things that Sarah was missing out on. Winnie would talk for hours in one-sided conversations that would pause to ask a question once in a while, making it Sarah’s cue to speak. She loved it when Winnie visited. It was as if they were two young mothers again sitting around the table with cookies made with American chocolate and drinking watered-down wine. The blonde was allowed to pretend that she was as healthy as a horse, strong once more to fight the world around her that dared to touch her son. 

Winnie once said, “ _ Don’t you give up on me, now, Sarah. Who else will sit and gossip with me? Betty Marks? Please, that woman is just trouble,”  _ yet her face became somber, reaching out to touch Sarah’s hand with her warm one, “ _ You’ll get better, darling. Just you wait. We’re meant to be two old birds sitting on the stoop for the rest of our lives, you and I,”  _

She’ll miss Winnifred Barnes. She did hope that the woman will find another friend to ramble with, a new best friend to replace the one she lost. Though sweet, Sarah was also selfish, and gifted Winnifred her hourglass to remember her. Winnifred had accepted it with a tight voice, smiling past the lump in both their throats and said, “ _ I’ll use to to count down the minutes to your recovery,”  _

Denial is the worst kind of lie because it is the lie you tell yourself. 

Still, Sarah went along with the false promises of miracles and failed prayers for good health. Laying on her deathbed, Sarah didn’t fear Death at all. She’s confronted the bastard time and time again, shook his hands and danced with him on nights full of loneliness and despair before she met Steven. There was no use in fighting him, now, because she knew her name was written on his list. She’d gladly take his bony hand into the light - that is, if it wasn’t for her son. 

Once upon a time, Sarah made a pact with a Goddess to tell her child about his true origins come his eighteenth birthday. It was October, the colors and chills having long since set in. Steven still believed Sarah to be his real mother, treating her like a Saint instead of despising her for keeping the truth from him for so long. Like she said, Sarah was a selfish woman, and she couldn’t bare the thought of her one true love hating her even for a second. He deserved to know who his real parents were, but for right now, she wanted him to still love the ones he grew up believing. 

Sarah licked the envelope concealing a letter that contained everything Steven needed to know about Diana Prince and Steve Trevor - everything that had transpired in the past eighteen years of his life. The idea was for Steven to open it after she had passed, a coward's way out of a web of lies and deceit. She hoped it would bring him closure long past she had died along with the sun on the horizon. It’s the least she could do. Writing his name on the front, Sarah set the envelope on the nightstand for later and noticed that Steven’s bowl of soup was still almost full to the brim. 

“Steven?” 

He looked up from his notebook, face smoothed into that of a man, “Yes?” 

“You have to eat,” she sighed, sinking into the plushness of her pillow, “Carrots are good for the memory. I want you to pay attention and learn. You keep studying and drawing like you do, and you’ll be someone,” 

The scowl on his face told a million words, some of which probably are blasphemous in the name of carrots, but he simply shrugged and settled on saying, “Why would I want to remember this?” 

Sarah nodded. She’d rather not argue with Steven about this, not when she’s fighting to breathe at the moment and she has so much she would like to say to him. He’s grown so much in the past few years - getting a job at a local grocer to support them when Sarah became too sick to continue working at the hospital. The Barnes’ help out, also, when they have the time between the three little girls running around and working at keeping the company afloat. It’s strange. All her life she was told that no one would help her in her time in need, yet she had a whole village behind her. She must’ve done something really good to deserve the help. 

Steven’s bangs fall into his eyes as he draws, fingers stained with charcoal and sitting in an awfully painful looking position on a chair that didn’t exactly do wonders for those with scoliosis. His legs were long and skinny, practically swimming in his trousers that James had lent him when the young man put on a few more inches and couldn’t fit in them anymore. The freckles that use to pepper his skin were fading along with the baby fat that had still clung to his cheeks until a few months ago. It’s foolish to think so, but Sarah thought that he looked so much like her own father. Both men were thin, but noble and loyal to those that they loved most on this Earth and the next. Steven looked up once more with a smile on his face, turning the sketchbook to face her. “I drew this for you,” he announced proudly, “It’s the castle from the story about the Swan King? When you’re all better, I want to go visit it with you,” 

Sarah’s heart squeezed. The castle was gorgeous. It looked exactly like how she herself imagined the famed castle to look like - complete with the tall pointed towers and covered in lovely windows that Steven had colored to look like gold. It stood among a forest of emeralds with a large body of water behind the castle itself. Oh, how she use to dream of traveling to far off lands that inspired so many of the stories she would read Steven at night. One of the most prominent of those dreams were to lay in the sun in the middle of a grand field full of hydrangeas and zinnias somewhere in Germany. She wanted to feel the Earth under her fingers, the scent of the flowers filling her senses, and breathing goodness into the universe from her spot in the grass. 

But, laying in a bed surrounded by bouquets of flowers and next to her son was perhaps better than anything she could have ever dreamed of. 

“It’s beautiful,” she smiled, “But you and I both know you’ll have to journey there yourself, my love,” 

“No, I won’t, because you’ll get better, right, Ma?” and oh, how his eyes shone like stars when they got teary like this. She swallowed the lump in her throat, reaching to touch his hand. The stark contrast between golden skin against pale sickly skin made her wrinkle her nose. 

“Be strong, baby. Go on and eat your soup. Mrs. Barnes made it, it’d be rude t-”

“I don’t  _ want  _ it!” Steven bellowed, desperation in his face casting shadows on his features to make him both seem older and younger than he really is, “I  _ want _ you to get better! You can’t leave me, Ma, you can’t,” he angrily wiped a straw tear with his thumb, “ _ I’m _ the sick one. It should be  _ me _ , not you. Why does it have to be you?” 

The sun was started to get low, and the room was starting to illuminate just like it did the day she brought this beautiful man into the world. Her chest started to ache from trying to breathe past her lungs beginning to shut down. There was a sudden rattling that filled the air when she took a breath, a shooting pain when she exhaled. That’s when she saw  _ him _ . 

Joseph Rogers standing in the corner of the room, light surrounding him in a beckoning cloud of warmth that whispered ‘ _ come towards me’ _ . He stood straight, wearing his formal military uniform filled to the brim with multiple medals and decorative praise. The skin of his fingers and face was clear like the day he left with a hushed promise on her lips to be back before she knew it. A part of her didn’t want to see him, fearful that he would shun her away in disgust at how sickly thin and pasty she looked, but the smile that broke out on his young handsome face only gave her courage to face the unknown chapter of her existence. 

She tugged at Steven’s hand, weakly encouraging to follow suit. “Come here, sunshine boy, I have to tell you something,” she said. Her crying son obeyed, crawling into the small room towards the edge of the bed to lay next to Sarah - an aged up version of the way she once held him when he was only five and begging her to tell her a story before bedtime whilst cradling a nasty gash on his arm. Laying his head in the crook of her neck, she used to last of the strength she still had in her to squeeze him close in her embrace. “Your life is always going to be a difficult one, but don’t let that harden your heart. A hard life can be a good life as long as you always do what you can to help others. Never forget that,” 

“Momma, please …” 

“It has been an honor to be your mother, Steven,” she didn’t know if it was the TB or her own emotions that was starting to make it hard to breathe, “You have been the greatest love of my life, and I wouldn’t trade even a  _ second _ of these years for all the riches in the world. You must promise me that you’ll go on to spread as much goodness in the world as you have given me,” 

Steven clung to her even tighter - as if his own hand could anchor her to life. The world was growing dark around the edges, and Joseph was now standing even closer to the bed than before. “Momma, don’t go.  _ Please _ , don’t leave me. I need you! I need you, Momma, please. Don’t do this to me,” he begged, whimpering, and sobbing just as he did when he was a child. Her golden crowned Prince. Her neck was damp from his tears. “ _ Please _ ,”   


_ “Hello, dove. It’s been far too long,”  _

“Steven, listen to me. I have to go, your father is here for me,” she whispered, for it was all she could do, “I love you. No matter where you go or who you become, I will  _ always _ love you. I have loved you all your life, and I will continue to love you in death. You’re my beautiful sunshine boy,” 

There was a loud wail that ripped the silence in the room, Steven’s fingers gripping and pulling at any surface of her body that he could touch to just  _ stay, Momma, please, please, take me with you.  _ His love for her radiated from him in bursts of blinding lights, the God-like divinity that lived in him only made her feel even more at peace. 

Everyone tries to die with an Earthly title that becomes meaningless in death. Fame, fortune, and power were nothing compared to the love that remains long after a body turns back to dust. Sarah knew that she wasn’t just a simple Irish girl, nor was she a sweet nurse, because Sarah Rogers realized that she is  _ loved _ . When God lays his hand on her head, and asks her,  _ “Who were you, Sarah?” _ , she’ll reply in a voice as strong as her heart,  _ “I was loved” _ . She was the luckiest woman that ever lived - because she got to be loved by the most amazing thing to grace this world, and she was blessed with having the love of good souls to follow her into the darkness that laid before her. 

Sarah Rogers neè MacCarthaigh - cherished mother, daughter, and wife - closed her eyes for the final time, and never opened them again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be 100% honest, I'm really gonna miss writing Sarah Rogers! She's such an amazing character that I had fun exploring and interpreting. I'm sad that I won't get to write her again in this story, but on the upside, I get to try my hand at writing Diana! I'm so nervous ahaha
> 
> Shoutout to my beta Avery for being my crying guinea pig and for making this really awesome playlist! It really fits this chapter :) 
> 
> Remember to comment to let me know what you think of Sarah or the chapter and follow me on tumblr @napolibarnes!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend visits both Diana and Steve, though his visit is met with bittersweet news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small WARNING because Steve does have a small panic attack but that's about it :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Ma’s room was cleaned out only a few days after her death. At first, Mrs. Barnes insisted on leaving his mother’s body in the bed to have those who knew her come to say their final goodbyes. He wished he had the strength to protest, but the sight of Ma surrounded by a plethora of flowers made his heart contract. She looked like a sleeping princess, awaiting a prince to come and kiss her back to life. 

How Steve wished he could jump into his worn out book of fairytales and live in a world where kisses were gentle necromancy and the good lived for eternities. 

The faces of visitors blurred and sounded muffled to his numb senses. Sometimes they would force him into an embrace, other times they would push homemade food into his arms. The door to her room seemed to be permanently left open  _ — _ people walking in and out as if his mother was a prized exhibit in a fancy art museum. Steve didn’t want to talk to any of them. Their condolences meant nothing, their pity was not welcomed, and their promises of healing were merely ash on their tongues. 

He would find himself sitting next to her at odd hours of the day  _ — _ particularly at the golden hour where the sun would cast some color into Ma’s cheeks. It was eerie in a way that didn’t send chills down Steve’s spine. Just a few days ago, he’d sat in the very same chair while his mother spoke to him in a raspy voice, describing all the things she liked to do as a young woman in Ireland. It made him want to travel back and shake the unsuspecting girl by her shoulders, scream at her to stay there and resist the handsome man that will one day whisk her away to end up alone in a foreign land with not even a penny to her name. 

Knowing his Ma, she would’ve still done it the same all over again, because he sure as hell didn’t get his stubbornness from his father. She would’ve given a big speech about how it all lead to her having him, delusional and blinded by her love for a man who couldn’t even make enough money to cure her ailment like a real man would’ve. He was prepared to sell his kidney if it meant that he’d get at least another year with his mother  _ — _ hell, even his heart if it wasn’t so damn faulty. Her life was completely dedicated to raising him, and in her moment of need, he couldn’t even muster the strength to comfort her in her last moments. No, he spent the last minutes with his mother by crying like a child into her nightgown. 

Pathetic. 

He was so pathetic that he didn’t feel worthy of reading the letter he found in Ma’s nightstand drawer. It was enclosed in a brown envelope with his name scrawled out neatly, sealed with a wax seal that he wondered where she had gotten it from. She wrote it on her deathbed, a last will and testament of love to the son that she thought could do no harm. It was the true last words of a mortal Saint. No doubt there was things in there she’d always wanted to tell him - things that hurt too much at the moment to even think about, much less read about. Maybe, just maybe, if he never opened it, he wouldn’t feel the pain of losing his only family left, and Steve could pretend that she was still alive in the next room. 

Sliding the envelope into an old copy of  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ , Steve tried to forget about it. He didn’t want words on paper, he just wanted his mother back. It must’ve worked, because by the time he arrived at the funeral, he’d completely forgotten everything that had happened in the past week since Ma took her final breath in this world. 

The funeral, thankfully, was quick and mostly painless. The turn out was big, which was something that Steve was shocked to see considering that it’s always just been him and Ma his entire life. There was only about four rows of chairs, but those who attended were more than happy to stand for the time just to watch as they lowered her into her final resting place. The moment Steve threw a white lily onto the wooden casket, all the attendees followed suit to bury his Ma in a field of beautiful flowers, rather than dirt. The haphazard assortment of colors shone brightly in the cold blackened atmosphere that surrounded them in the cemetery of gravestones so old that Steve briefly wondered if some of the original colonists were buried there too. 

He remembered glancing at the tombstone of the father he never knew, his features always been something of creativity since he never even saw a photo of the man, and silently thanked the brave soldier for being the arms his mother fell into upon the end of her life. Steve liked to think that their Heaven was filled with flowers and love and sunlight  _ — _ a real-life Monet painting just for the two star-crossed lovers. 

His own love, though, calling the other boy that seemed too much even for him, kept a long distance as they watched a tired young man shovel dirt into the fresh grave. Bucky wrung his hands everytime Steve looked at him from the corner of his eye, biting his plush lips and holding back tears judging from the red that lined his eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes stood next to their son, both openingly expressing their heartbreak in their own ways, though Bucky seemed to be keeping it together for the most part. A part of Steve wanted to scream at him for daring to make it seem like his Ma wasn’t also partly Bucky’s too, yet a bigger part of him wanted to run into his arms and sob for an eternity. Both weren’t possible, so he settled for allowing a numbness to spread through his body. 

The only thing that really jostled him from the haze he created, was when an older man came up from behind and touched his shoulder. His braids were long and tied together by a vivid red string, his face hardened yet gentle as he smiled down at Steve. “You must be Steven,” the man said, “I was a friend of your mother’s. Condolences for your loss,”

Steve didn’t answer until he was certain that the lump in his throat wouldn’t give him away. “Thank you,” 

“I see that Sarah was very loved by the community. There’s no fiercer memory than that of grateful hearts, don’t you agree?”

“I guess. Were you a patient of hers?”

The man looked like he was taken aback, mouth moving yet nothing coming out. He swallowed, and tried again. “No. Just an old friend of your mother’s,”

“Thank you for attending. She would’ve been glad to see you here,”

The man nodded solemnly. “I wish I had been able to say goodbye. The last time I saw her was when she was living in England,” 

Steve’s skin prickled unpleasantly. He never heard of Ma living in England. But then again, she  _ did _ grow up in Ireland, which was relatively close to England from what he could tell. The man looked to be around his mother’s age, if not older. Perhaps he got confused? “I didn’t know she lived in England,” 

The man paused, and then took in a sharp intake. He cleared his throat. “Yes, she lived there for a few years during the war - did … she not tell you?” 

Steve shook his head. The stranger’s face hardened, his body becoming taunt like a bow. “This may sound strange, but do you know Diana Prince?” 

“My aunt?” Steve asked, “I haven’t thought of her in years. There was an accident the last time she was here. I don’t remember what happened, but it really burned her up” 

The older man nodded slowly, his eyes darting between the general direction of Sarah’s freshly dug grave and Steve’s tearful face. There was a way the man carried himself — his physical appearance looked young, yet his eyes and wrinkles looked to be much older than he actually was. It was like a much smaller, primal part of him feared the man. It was something that he couldn’t place his finger on, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to.    


When the man smiled, it felt like receiving a compliment from his Ma. It was so wise and compassionate, Steve could stare at it all day. A large hand clapped his shoulder, it’s owner looking at the smaller man from under the brim of his hat. “You might want to get in contact with her. She’s eager to see you again,” he mused, and let go of the blonde man. 

With that, the stranger left, and within seconds, he was gone among the sea of black dressed and mournful faces. The interaction left an unsettling feeling deep in his bones, rattling him enough that he suddenly felt confined in the open nature around him. He didn’t know what else to do, other than leave as quick as he could. He had said his goodbye to Ma, and he couldn’t handle the rest of the funeral with pity from everyone. 

Steve ran home. 

And it was just his luck that Bucky was waiting for him, leaning against the bricks that made up the old building that seemed to be way sturdier than Steve was at the moment. There was a cigarette between his lips - sultry smile and half-lidded eyes beconned the younger man towards his wicked beauty. He didn’t greet the other male, simply walking past him to the rickety stairs. He vaguely heard Bucky tsk behind him before hearing the steps groan under their combined weight. 

“How was it?” 

“It’s okay,” Steve said softly, hands stuffed into his pockets in an effort to stop the coldness from creeping further into him, “She’s next to Dad,” 

Moving his bangs from his face, he could practically hear Bucky chewing on his next words as if he was afraid Steve might shatter like glass at the wrong word choice. He wasn’t  _ fragile.  _ He’s spent his whole life treated that way  _ — _ he wasn’t going to let it continue. Even if it was just to himself, he needed to prove that he was a man, capable of taking care of himself without his Ma. 

“I was gonna ask …” Bucky started, but Steve cut him off with a sigh of slight irritation. 

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, it’s  _ — _ ” he let the ‘s’ hiss a little, coming to a stop in front of the building’s door. Bucky continued to talk, bringing up nostalgia to manipulate Steve into yet again being dependent on someone that death could easily take at any moment. The shorter of the two dug into his coat pocket for his key, but found only lint. He was positive he grabbed his key that morning. With all the confusion, his mind was clear enough to think ‘ _ I need my key’ _ , hadn’t it?

Bucky, bless his heart, didn’t stop talking. “It’ll be fun. All you got to do is shine my shoes. Maybe you can take out the trash,” there was a scuffing noise behind Steve that was unmistakable as his best friend’s shoes dragging towards the fake rock near the banister. There was a slight clicking from the older man’s leg braces — no doubt the old leather cracking from use. Bucky kicked the rock gently to reveal a spare key that Ma put there in case of emergency. She use to always smile, picking it up happily with a hop in her step and saying, “ _ Can ‘ever be too cautious with those faes. They love shiny things,”.  _

Fuck, he missed her so much. 

Bucky held the small key out to him like an offering, to which Steve took without once looking into his friend’s eyes. “C’mon,” he urged, tilting his head to look at the blonde as if his face alone could lift Steve’s spirits. 

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve sighed, finally looking up to find Bucky was standing a few feet away. It seemed to be the Barnes’ version of giving space, to which they took to heart. By God, Bucky was beautiful in his Sunday best, hair slicked back to show off his splendid features, eyes shining contrast to his olive complexion, and his suit so elegantly pressed it looked straight off the advertisement. Still, no matter the angel, he refused to accept the help. “But I can get by on my own,” 

Bucky didn’t seem to like the answer, not from how his lips twisted in displeasure and he shook his head to refuse whatever it was that Steve was going to say next. “That thing is-” he started, laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder. It felt intimate, even if it was an every-day gesture that they’ve shared numerous times. “You don’t have to,”

The hand squeezed, and so did Steve’s resolve to resist the golden-blessed man, “I’m with you  ‘til the end of the line,” 

Temptation of love was the hardest to resist, as so stated in the actions of Sarah Rogers, so Steve was helpless against the radiance of his James, thus accepting whatever it was that the other wanted. Really, Bucky could tell him to jump, and Steve would until he could gift him all the stars in the sky. 

That’s how Steve found himself a week later, sharing an apartment with his best friend. It was small, and it was in one of the most crowded area of Brooklyn. The days were filled with loud neighbors and pedestrians on the streets below, and the nights belonged to those in colorful outfits and couples shyly holding hands in the shadows. It seemed that their entire time there in the apartment was a constant mellody of noises coming from ever which direction. It didn’t hinder their sleeping, so they didn’t mind much  _ — _ Steve even grew to imagine the sounds of the city as a lullaby. 

There was another fortunate accommodation that came with sharing an apartment with Bucky. It was something that Steve noticed gradually as they both started to settle into a niche routine that felt as fitted and comfortable as a worn-in glove. At first, he merely pinned the fluttering feeling in his chest to the simple smiles Bucky would give him whenever they both caught each other’s eyes, or in the way he would triumphantly announce that he did the grocery shopping himself. 

It only really hit Steve on an afternoon only a few weeks after the funeral. The nip of Jack Frost hadn’t yet arrived in Brooklyn, but instead it left an orange sun peeking through the lovely blue skies of November. The record that Mr. Barnes had gifted them as a housewarming gift was on in the corner, an Ella Fitzgerald record nestled under the needle. The box was a copper color that reflected the sunlight gorgeously onto wall, moving slowly across the room as the sun shifted with the call of the night. 

The blonde was sitting as compacted as he could be, a foot resting on an ottoman that Nurse Lee gave him with a teary smile. It was meant for his mother, and he only really ever used it whenever he needed his leg to have the leverage it needed to balance his sketchbook, to commit her features to memory. In the moment, he was stuck on the way her eyes seemed to look off in the distance rather than looking at the beholder  _ —  _ a shyness or daydreaming glimmer that Sarah Rogers’ had etched right into her existence. He tapped the erasure of his pencil against his lip, and stole a small flicker of the man next to him. 

Bucky was loud and charming, big personality that translated to his love of attention and missing the hesitation to not take up too much space. He was sprawled on the couch with his long legs draping over the armrest, his lips wrapped delicately around a cigarette as his blue eyes roamed across the letters and words on the novel he was currently enthralled in. Steve wasn’t as much of a reader as Bucky was, but he would gladly read the book millions of times over and over just to be the reason that the spark of shared joy on his friend’s face. Though his warmth, eyes, and cupid bow lips were things of utter adoration, Steve couldn’t help but gander at the shirtless chest of the man. 

Dusted with fine freckles that only gleamed in the dying sun, Bucky’s chest looked hard yet soft like marbled fat on a statue. It seemed like the perfect place for Steve to rest his head upon, the dip between his pecs the right width for his fingers to trace. He loved the small details on Bucky’s skin  _ —  _ the fine curled hairs, the slight dotted scars of pubescent blemishes, the toned abdominals that laid just out of sight. If he could, Steve would take his time to memorize every line and pore on Bucky’s body. 

It truly didn’t help when the record played the first few notes of  _ Dream a Little Dream of Me _ . The brunette's eyes grew wide as his lips stretched into a smile that could give sight back to a blind man. He discarded the book onto the cushions and started to pull on Steve’s arm with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning. “C’mon, Steve,” he said, “I love this song,” 

“You know I got two left feet,” Steve sighed, “Remember that night at the dance hall with Lucille Burnet? I’d break all your toes,” 

Shaking his head, Bucky only tried to goat him on even more by pulling at both arms. He could easily manhandle Steve off the couch, but if there was one thing he was certain about Bucky Barnes, it’s that he’d never force anyone to do anything they didn’t want to do. He said it felt wrong, like the villains in his novels; always manipulating others to do their bidding. That kind of thing didn’t sit right for both of them, so they didn’t like seeing it with others as well. 

“Ah, forget Burnet! She ditched us to go kiss Billy Larson  _ —  _ the manners on her. You were too good for her anyway!” 

“And you know what’s good for me, Barnes?” Steve muttered loudly, setting his sketchbook aside to give in to Bucky’s desires. He should feel bad, only agreeing to dance because he wanted to feel the warmth of other man’s skin against his own. Poor circulation and all that, it always left Steve feeling like he was living in an ice cube. Well, that was the excuse he used, anyway. 

Bucky ducked his head, not answering Steve, but getting to work on adjusting their positions as the voice of Louis Armstrong started to fill the room. Steve forced down a squeal of surprise when he felt Bucky’s big and warm hand cup the curve of the blonde’s side, not once feeling him recoil at the feeling of bone instead of meat under his hand. They were pressed fleshed together. Steve’s feet were clumsy as Bucky began to sway them to the rhythm of the music from the record. The palm of his hand was growing more and more sweaty, and he wondered if it was the combined warmth of their hands together or the realization that he was dancing against Bucky Barnes. 

Christ, if any of the ladies that stole sultry looks at Bucky could see them now. 

Their height difference had Steve’s head pressed into the space he so longed to stay on, with his ear over the steady beating heart that laid so freely open to the world. The brunette began to hum along to the singing of Ella Fitzgerald, and Steve closed his eyes to revel in the beauty of the moment that he knew would only last a few more minutes. Both the sun and Bucky were warming a place so deep in him that he thought would never thaw since his mother died. She was the only woman that truly understood him and his forbidden thoughts, holding him and giggling with him under the blanket of night whenever he came home with a goofy grin that she recalled from her days of dating his father. He wondered if this is how his father held his mother in Ireland  _ — _ fingers clenched tight onto the other as if both were afraid to disappear into thin air. He realized that it wouldn’t be so bad, to leave behind this world to venture another with Bucky. 

“See? Ain’t so bad,” Bucky piped up quietly, looking at Steve through long lashes, “Just needed the right instruction,” 

“Maybe I just needed the right partner,” Steve replied, and laughed along with his friend as the older of the two attempted a dip. The right partner. For dancing, for love, for a life, for the kind of love you only hear in storybooks. He found the right partner, he just needed Bucky to think the same. 

Steve held Bucky tighter with a faint excuse of feeling dizzy, and they only stopped their swaying when the legs against his began to tremble and the skin on his cheek began to taste of salt. Bucky still didn’t let go of the younger man, instead he swung Steve’s hips along with him as they collapsed onto the velvet couch in a flurry of elbows and knees. 

Despite having a weakened spell  _ —  _ something Steve had noticed was becoming rarer and rarer  _ — _ Bucky still had a grin on his face as he sprawled across the cushions and left no room for Steve to sit that wasn’t on some part of Bucky’s body. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was slightly damp, but he panted out a laugh towards Steve. “Not bad,” he breathed, “Might need some more lessons before you can dance with a dame, but not the worst I’ve seen,” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Right. Don’t get too cocky,  _ James _ , I’m the only one who knows  _ where  _ you got your moves,”

“You can’t threaten me with that! Ladies love a sensitive fella! They’ll think I’m the hottest guy since Rudolph Valentino,” Bucky said, moving to grab the bottle of pills next to the lamp, “ _ Please _ ! As if Becca’s friends didn’t already tell the whole town about her  _ dashingly handsome _ older brother helping her practice,” Bucky swallowed the pills dry, tipping his head back to get them to go down easier as he lazily peered at Steve. “Though, I would like it if you didn’t tell anyone. I’ve got enough girls wanting to get in my pants, I don’t really need any more,”

“Yeah, right. You’re seriously telling me that you don’t like it when girls wanna sleep with you?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” his fingers carded the strands of chocolate locks away from his face, “They’re like …  _ dolls _ . Like the porcelain ones Becca use to play with. They’re all unique and gorgeous, but that’s all they are to me. Pretty. Individual. They remind me of my sisters and you’d have to be a messed up motherfucker to want to have sex with someone that reminded you of your  _ sister, _ ” 

It made sense to Bucky, so it should make sense to Steve. It was just hard to not picture Bucky in the picturesque family life that he’d convince himself was the inevitable future. In his mind, there was always a slender and elegant woman with a blurred face in his friend’s arms, giggling and smelling like roses while two kids run past them sporting a mix of both their looks. He had already resigned himself to a life of being a lonely bachelor with only the memory of an underdeveloped love, he didn’t want to do the same with Bucky. Not when doing so planted a seed of hope of a  _ What If _ . 

Steve shrugged, picking up his sketchbook once more to the picture of Sarah Rogers smiling towards something just out of frame. “I guess certain people are just meant to be for admiring, huh?” 

“Exactly,”

He felt Bucky’s eyes linger on him for a moment, dragging those beautiful blues over Steve from under heavy eyelids. The sun finally descended into the horizon, pulling the clouds and light with it as stars emerged over the darkened sky. The chill of the October night was finally setting in. He didn’t mind it, not with Bucky’s natural warmth heating up the skin where his thigh pressed into the smaller man’s hip. Heat radiated off his cheeks, and when he looked at Bucky to tell him to knock it off, he found the older man fast asleep with his arm pillowing his head and his other arm draped over his stomach. 

And if Steve leaned over the brunette's long and sculpted body, using his hands to support his weight from pressing into Bucky’s, no one had to know. If his lips gently brushed the corner of a bow-shaped mouth — a whisper, a light pressure, a lover’s secret — then it was something only meant for Steve to know. 

* * *

Diana Prince learned long ago that Ares’ had drawn his strength from the hatred and bloodlust that lived in mankind’s hearts. Though a full God, his power was only surged to something beyond that of a God by how many believed in him. A war hit, and he was almost unbeatable to the point where Diana still isn’t one hundred percent sure he isn’t still lingering on Earth. 

That’s why she had thrown herself into working against war, and pain, and suffering. She joined an agency that started gaining traction as tensions in Germany grew more unbearable, happily accepting her despite the fact that she was a woman. She had mixed feelings about joining something so closely related to the military and war, but in the end, having the authority to battle strategize to minimize casualties outweighed her person feelings on the matter.

In her mind, she was doing to to make the world a better place for her estranged son. It’s all she ever thought about, all she ever wanted for Steven was to make sure that he was growing up in a world of peace. War had ripped her and Sarah apart and tried to piece it back together, and she’d rather die before allowing it to lay a finger on her son. 

It had been thirteen years since she’d seen or heard of him. At first, she willed herself to accept Sarah’s decision that was made in Steven’s best interest, eagerly awaiting his eighteenth birthday. There had been countless times she had seen young men on the street with golden hair and the brightest shade of blue eyes and wondered,  _ Could it be him? My beautiful boy? _ When not working to better mankind, she found her mind drifting to pondering what her son was doing at the exact moment as her. Her calendar was marked with fat ‘X’s as the days counted down to the circle date of July 4th, and allowed herself to daydream more and more. She imagined a tearful reunion, or perhaps a shy yet content smile as they learn in to embrace. She counted down the days, the hours, the minutes, the  _ seconds.  _ All leading up to her boy’s birthday. 

Then, it came. And passed. Still no word from Steven. Obviously, there was the adjusting phase that needed to take place first, so she gave him time to sort out his feelings for her. She threw herself into working alongside her new and young coworkers, letting her mind wonder about Steven and rushing to the mail after her shift to see if any word from her son was inside.

This continued for the rest of July. Then all of August. September. And now, October, and still no word. Not a rumor, a letter,  _ nothing _ . Her only logical conclusion was that Steve must hate her for leaving him behind, abandoning him before he was even weaned off. The true tragedy was that she never got the chance to explain why she had to leave him behind. There will always be a part of her that will never feel complete, like a missing chapter in a book. So much lost. 

The past eighteen years have been hard. Blending into society seemed seamless and easy, but there was always too many questions asked by the wrong people. They all wanted to know who she was, why she had moved into Mr. Trevor’s home, where did she go for the entire day. If she was in England, it was meant to be public knowledge of every step she took. Etta had been a Gods sent, really, between helping her maintain a job at the British Air Force  and teaching her what was expected of women. They weren’t to fight, nor get into drinking competitions in pubs, and God Forbid she wore anything that didn’t go to her ankles. 

Men really loved to control every aspect of a woman’s life. 

She didn’t let it make her cold. Rather, she let that anger manifest into inspiration to change the world for equality between the sexes that both have inherited the Earth long after her father took his last breath after creating her home. She smiled politely, and she never turned down an occasion to help new recruits with learning the ropes of the BAF. 

This was why she had welcomed the friendly knocking on her office door one afternoon in October. The weather was growing chilly, though her body didn’t really register the feeling of the wind nipping at her from the open window in her office. The one true warmth she got was from the sun, and even that was dying over the horizon when an old friend came in for the first time in years. 

“Hello, Chief,” she smiled, standing up for a formal hug that brought with it the scent of the Earth and burning wood. The man chuckled deep in his chest, not holding back his strength as he engulfed her. His various keepsakes in his hair and clothing clanked and clattered with every breath. Diana pulled away. “I cannot express how happy I am to see you,” 

“The feeling is mutual, Diana. And please, I’ve told you countless times to call me  _ Napi _ ,” he took off his hat as he started to settle into the faux leather chair that rested just in front of her desk. They didn’t bring it up, the elephant in the room. There wasn’t need to mention the picture of Steve on her desk, smiling at her from in front of his plane. The wound had scabbed over, but it didn’t mean it won’t still bleed it they picked at it. Diana cleared her throat. 

“Of course. I won’t make that mistake again, I assure you,” she said, “How have you been, Napi?” 

“Oh, the same ol’, same ol’. I can’t help being brought back to my ancestor’s land. It’s infested with Europeans, don’t get me wrong, but it is still nice to call it home,” Napi laughed, leaning into the leather, “And yourself, Diana? How is it working for the BAF?” 

Dreadful. Taxing. Emotional torture. A chore. “It’s a living. I cannot complain. It makes me feel closer to … well, you know,” the tears that would once run down her cheeks only peek out, but don’t fall. It felt like process  _ —  _ growth in the smallest and grandest baby steps. “I hope to finish up some work and take time off. Visit Steve’s parents, take Etta on a trip-”

“Look for Steven?” Napi sighed. Diana closed her mouth with an audible click. Of course.  _ Of course _ . Leave it to Napi to be gone for fifteen years and come back with knowledge that no one but Etta and herself knew of. In the eyes of the government, she had given birth to a stillborn baby girl in her home in England the exact same day that an Irish nurse gave birth to a bouncing boy in Brooklyn. There was no trace of Steven having ever lived or visited England. He was a ghost to those who dared to look deeper into her claims. The only way that Napi would know about Steven would be if Etta broke her vow to Diana, or the man was hiding a few secrets of his own. 

Diana smiled and tilted her head at him. “I know exactly where Steve is, Napi. I bring flowers to him every Sunday. Would you care to join me next weekend?” 

The chair groaned with the shifting of the man, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees and intertwining his fingers together between his legs. He nodded, then shook his head. There was a few beats before he spoke again. “You know what I am, and I know what you are. Don’t disrespect me by lying to me. I know about your son,” 

The air grew thick. It contained the same energy of battle  _ —  _ the intense frequency of chance and probability of what your opponent will do next. For just anyone else, it would be easy for Diana to detect anything amiss with them. A bluff that no mere human can pick up on. Napi, however, wasn’t a mortal, nor a God. He was something in-between. He was like her. 

“Who told you?” 

“No one  _ told _ me. Come now, Diana, you continue to insult my intelligence. What kind of solidarity do we have if you can’t even be truthful to someone of your own kind?” his kind eyes didn’t mask the ugliness of dishonesty, so Diana took her chance with probability and allowed herself to believe in Napi’s intentions. Her shoulders softened, and she rolled her neck to release the tension that was building up inside her. Napi noticed, and continued, “While it has been nice catching up with you, your son is the reason why I am here today,”

Her chest fluttered. Hope and love blossomed in her  _ —  _ spreading from her heart to the tips of her fingers as she listened so intently to Napi that she could practically hear his  _ cells _ . Her entire body felt like bursting with excitement, so she schooled herself before answering the tall man. “Yes? Have  _ —  _ Has he reached out to you? I’ve been waiting months for him to contact me. Perhaps Sarah lost my address. I _ — _ I’d love to speak to him,” 

“Diana …” Napi took a deep breath, “You haven’t heard?” 

“... Heard what?” 

“Sarah Rogers … she contracted Tuberculosis,” he breathed, “She fought for two years, but she didn’t make it. She passed away in October. I’m sorry, Diana,” 

The last Diana saw of Sarah Rogers was thirteen years ago, her face twisted in a ferocious snarl of a mother wolf protecting her cub. She remembered that day like a picture. The woman was beautiful even with the slight bruising around her eyes from exhaustion and the fire in her eyes that could only be snuffed out by the smile of their son. God, Diana wanted to hate her for what she had ordered. It took years before the brunette finally accepted that Sarah knew what was best for the boy and there was sacrifice that came with putting the wellbeing of a child before her own. Their relationship was rocky, but the woman always admired the nurse for her selflessness and compassion that shined through in Steven’s actions. It tore her apart to see her own flesh and blood hugging and loving another woman while his real mother watched as a stranger. The woman was a mortal, nothing in the grand scheme of the universe and just a faceless minion to the Gods that ruled over their domain eons ago  _ —  _ yet Diana knew that Sarah was Steven’s entire existence. 

Tears sprang to her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, twin shimmering rivers that seemed to escape past the carefully constructed dam she had built years ago. She never had the chance to thank Sarah  _ —  _ for her generosity, for her strength, for her sacrifice. Diana had always hoped to rebuild the friendship that had been crushed to dust, always putting it off saying that there would always be time for that. Gods, she didn’t even attend the funeral. 

“Diana …” 

“She wasn’t supposed to die yet,” the demigod gasped out, air suddenly hard to breathe in, “Not her. She was  _ good.  _ She was good, Napi, she deserved to live longer. Who … who could  _ do _ this?” 

“It was the disease. From what I gathered, she was working in the TB ward and got hit. There’s no shaking that off once you got it. I’ve seen many of my people succumb to it,” 

“ _ Shit _ ,” 

“She died loved,” Napi said, “She didn’t die alone. Steven was with her  _ —  _ kept her happy in her final moments. That’s all one can really ask for in the end,” 

“And Steven? Where … how is he?” He must be so heartbroken. No wonder he hadn’t contacted her yet. Thirteen years later and Diana was still being selfish, thinking of only herself and never the possibility that there must’ve been something so wrong that prevented him from reaching out to her. Finding out he was adopted and having his mother die only a few months later? Christ, the poor boy must be in agony. 

Napi’s brows furrowed, and it felt like another stab in the heart. “I spoke to him very briefly at the funeral, but I managed to stay long enough to learn that he’s living with a friend of his. He’s healthy with a roof over his head. You don’t need to worry about him, he’s  _ fine _ ,” 

“You’ve obviously never been a parent,” Diana muttered under her breath, immediately moving to gathering up the papers and files on her desk. She’s been a good agent, and she sure as hell has enough days saved up to take some time off. Maybe if she convinced her boss, she could work from New York rather than gather up dust in her office thousands of miles away from her son. Mankind was so selfish when it came to occupation, yes, but surely they’d understand that she needed to be there for her boy. He has no one now, he needs her like how she ne-

“Diana!” she stopped, “You can’t bully your way into his life. You have to let him spread his wings,” 

“I can’t do that, Napi,”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” 

“I won’t!” Diana didn’t mean to growl out the word, but she felt her skin prickle as the sun continued to retreat farther and farther down the horizon, “I  _ —  _ he was so young. I barely had any time with him, and suddenly he’s so far away and calls another woman his mother. The older he gets, the less he’ll need a mother. Can’t you see, my friend? I never got to be his mother,” 

The room settled around them as the energy in the room died out into a dull hum of nothingness. The files were still clenched tightly in her hands, Napi’s eyes darted around from under his eyelids as if he was seeing something that Diana couldn’t. Finally, he opened his eyes with a look so sorrowful that Diana could clearly read everything he wanted to saw. “Steven already had a mother. Her name was Sarah Rogers, and she died of tuberculosis at the age of forty-two. There’s nothing more you can do for him that Sarah hadn’t done for him already,” Napi sighed, “All you can do is let him come to you when he is ready. He’ll want to know where he comes from, trust me, and when he does, he will come to you. You can’t force him, Diana,” 

For an ancient God, it seemed pretty out of character for him to stand and hold her close to his chest in a firm embrace, but both of them never seemed to be good Gods anyway. They weren’t the hardened Divined, the type to cause plagues for respect. Their emotions didn’t range from ire to mild neutrality. Diana didn’t hold in a lot of the intense hatred Ares carried for eons, and Napi wasn’t capable of the alulurring enchantment that Ko'komiki'somm possessed. They were, unfortunately, the last of their kind. They decided what was considered divine in the new world, so they decided that they weren’t going to just be demigods. They chose to embrace their feelings, and embrace each other for support. 

Diana’s tears flowed untamed, dripping down from the curve of her features and onto the rough texture of hide on Napi’s coat. His hands were strong on her shoulders, his head a grounding weight on top of her own. It didn’t heal her pain, but it was a soothing balm to know that she had his friendship on her side. It felt like having her mother there to listen to her. 

She knew she had to respect her son’s wishes, just like how her mother had respected Diana’s wishes to travel to the world of man. Her voice bounced in her mind as she finally understood what it must’ve felt like for Hippolyta to watch Diana leave with a stranger to parts unknown to face horrors that she couldn’t even fathom. 

_ You have been my greatest love. Today, you are my greatest sorrow.  _

And so she waited for her son to come to her in his own time. Past the grieving and pain, she patiently stood by the mailbox for when word from her son arrived. 

It took six years before she’d ever come within a few feet of Steven. 

But more on that later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has issues, and Bucky tries his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!! This chapter went through sooo many rewrites that I had to split it into two chapters, so forgive me for how short this one is. Hopefully, we'll be getting to the meat of it in a few chapters :/ Thanks again to my AMAZING beta!!
> 
> WARNING: Body dismorphia and self-harm
> 
> Enjoy!

It was three against one, and Steve got his ass kicked. 

Logically, going into the fight, he knew he wasn’t going to make it out hunky-dory. The guys were from Bucky’s YMCA welterweight gym — trained and toned specifically to fight with their entire bodies. There was no way he was going to make it out of there unscathed and it was a miracle he even made it out of them without dying on the dirty alley floor behind  _ Rosaline’s Bridal.  _ It was something inside him that constantly rebelled the smart consciousness that told him to beware of danger, clawing and spitting blood in the face of those who insist on hurting their fellow man. 

How was he just expected to stand back and pretend he didn’t see them harassing a young woman? To turn a blind eye as one of their hands kept trying to slip under her skirt? He was not going to ignore her pleads for help like so many on the sidewalk did, hurrying faster with their eyes trained on the sky as if it was somehow make it all go away. He balled his fists tightly, marching towards them with all the fury of a Valkyrie that he would muster, and just started swinging. 

Remarkably, he managed to knock the leader out with a right hook that caught him in the jaw, sending him down in a heap on the floor while the girl stared in awe. His knuckles didn’t even tear from the force of the impact with bone against bone, yet there was a distinct bruise already forming on the cheek of the other man. The shock of it caught him off guard, and the next thing he knew, he was being held by two of the goons while his victim continuously wailed on him with  precise punches to the gut. 

They only stopped because they recognized him as their three-time welterweight champion’s best friend. Called him “Jimmy’s pal”. 

His eyes was almost swollen shut, a sickening mixture of blues and violets that expanded across his eye and onto his temple. Bony shoulders were mostly covered in grime from the alley floor, his prominent collarbones would cut glass as they stook out on his pale chest. One clavicle was crooked from being reset wrong a while back, a time after his Ma when no one else around him knew how to care for a broken collarbone. 

_Broken_. 

Everything about him was broken. Broken body, broken self-preservation, broken life, broken faith. Nothing felt whole in his life. His mother always spoke of him as if he was some kind of messiah — put on this Earth to bring light and goodness to a species that’s quickly decaying into nothingness as the days continue to pass. Standing in front of the mirror watching the colors on his eyes turn into more vibrant shades, Steve felt lied to. There was nothing special about him other than his list of illnesses being as long as his skinny arm. 

It was like the King in his mother’s stories. He was fighting against people who only wanted to harm and bring ill-faith over the land, but he was too weak to fight them off no matter how strong his own core beliefs were. He can fight it as much as he wants, but without a magical swan to grant him the strength he needed to rebel and defeat those who bully the masses, he was just a normal man. 

Steve rubbed vaseline into the mess around his eye, wincing and hesitantly prodding the swelling near his cheekbone. There was probably something broken in there, but he didn’t care at the moment. He could still hear the mocking of the men in his ear, calling him all sorts of slurs and half-truths that made him want to crawl into the deepest hole in the Earth and die. 

It’s one of the reasons why he’s so terrified of what would happen if he confessed his feelings to Bucky. Being around the kind of toxicity that is bred from a sport so testosterone infused as welterweight, it certainly didn’t make it easy for someone to just accept the fact that their best friend and roommate was attracted to men, especially if Steve told him he was in love with  _ him _ . It would tear their relationship apart and he’d lose the only thing keeping him from complete insanity. 

No matter what happened, he couldn’t loose Bucky. Ever. They’ve been attached at the waist since they were five, it was near impossible for them to be seperated for any amount of time. He was positive that his heart would get thrown out of sync without Bucky’s next to his and kill him instantly. It’s all both of them really had, anyway. Besides welterweight and art, both of them were alone in the recovering economy that tried to keep them down as much as possible to elevate those with riches beyond imagination. It’s been a while since the Barnes’ started to drift away from their beloved oldest child, the invitations to Sunday dinner becoming scarcer and scarcer as the weeks dragged by. Steve can’t really recall the last time Mrs. Barnes had stopped by the apartment with her world famous latkes in a glass dish that she wrapped in newspaper to keep warm. He didn’t know what had happened, just that something did and now Bucky refused to even visit his parents on milestones that were important to the family for decades. 

They  _ really _ couldn’t lose each other.

The door of the apartment opened with a creak, the sound of work boots being kicked off lazily and the clank of a tin lunchbox being thrown onto the couch being heard all the way from the bathroom. There was heavy footsteps stumbling down the hallway, and Steve prayed to whoever would listen that Bucky was just going to assume the younger man was asleep. 

“Steve? You home?” 

“Yeah. ‘M in the bathroom, Buck, gimmie a minute,” 

There’s a thud on the door of the bathroom, soft and gentle and it echoed in the room. Steve ignored it, apply more of the salve on his injuries until the skin around his eye was so numb that he couldn’t feel it if he punched himself again. His wrist was also covered in scrapes and points of dried blood shun in the yellow light coming from their shitty light fixture. The light gave him a pale and sickly color, draining him of all flushed and freckled skin, and it made him hate his reflection even more. He was too sickly, too small, too weak. No one would ever desire him, he wasn’t blessed with the effortless beauty that his mother had. The air in a room always grew more light and warm whenever she stepped into it — sweet perfume wafting around the noses of those who inhabited it and enchanting them. She had the likability that skipped a generation and left him utterly disgusted by those who walk the same streets as him. There was nothing human or otherwise that could look at him and think he would be a useful member of society.

The Steve in the reflection snarled, and a fist came at it so hard that the glass splintered into millions of pieces. 

The door flew open as if on command to reveal a tired and worried Bucky, making the sharp pain in his knuckles all the more excruciating. He was gorgeous, charming circles around everyone in the neighborhood with just a smile, and working hard at the docks like any man would be. The poster child of the American man coming to life in the dingy bathroom, here to take in the huddled masses and promising a life better than that they so desperately wanted to escape from. Had it not been for the fact that Steve has known the young man since they were barely old enough to walk, he would’ve fallen onto his knees in the broken glass shards to worship at his feet like a God. 

And a God-like wrath did the other man possessed. 

“Are you okay?” he inquired, tugging the bird-boned wrist toward him to look at the damage. Steve went willingly, hissing when a finger prodded the skin around the embedded glass. “What the Hell were you thinking? You could’a got glass in your eye!” 

Chocolate strands of the taller man’s hair fell over his face, mussed and rebelling against the pomade that the man generously piled on his head every morning. His cheeks were flustered, a slight tremble in his hands as he held the injured appendage like it was the most precious thing in the world. 

“I wasn’t thinking,”

“Damn straight you weren’t! Fuck, we’re gonna need somethin’ more than vaseline. Stay still, I’ll go get some whiskey,” 

The man turned to leave the room, but a sudden cold front whipped through Steve. He knew that Bucky was just walking an extra ten feet to the kitchen, yet the voice in his head told him to stop him at all costs, keep him close to him because what if he never came back? What if Steve stayed glued to his spot for all eternity, waiting for his love to come back despite waiting years and years to no avail? He’ll walk right out of Steve’s life just like the father he never knew walked into the war and told his mother he’d be back before she knew it. Bucky will disappear forever and leave him alone, just like his mother dying no matter how much he prayed and cried. Panic surged up inside him, and he grabbed onto the warmth radiating from his dear one to stop him. 

Bucky looked at him with a raised eyebrow, asking silently what the younger man was doing. He willed his voice to no weaver when he spoke, swallowing the panic and the fear, “Don’t leave me here alone. I don’t trust myself right now,” 

It was all the explanation that the older male needed. He turned around with a tsk, grabbing onto the forearm of the blonde to mimic his movements, and tugged him forward to jump over the worst of the mess. He should’ve hated how easy it was for Bucky to manhandle him over to him, snarl again at the ease of his movements, but it wasn’t until he was safely snuggled into the hard chest of the older man that he realized that it was for both their benefits. For Steve to avoid getting more glass in him, and for Bucky to check that nothing was broken in the frail body of his best friend. 

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Stevie. Just me and you, ‘til the end of the line, remember?” 

“What if you died? Like Dad and Ma?” 

“Pal, there ain’t no grave that can hold my body down from crawlin’ back to you,” his hands were big and strong, rubbing the freckled skin on his shoulders and biceps to warm the cold that always seeped into his bones. Butterflies fluttered in Steve’s stomach, and he tried his best to avoid giving himself false hope. He was grateful when Bucky chuckled, “‘Sides, maybe if I come back as a zombie, it’ll scare you enough to stop getting into  _ fights _ ,”

Steve laughed. “Nah, I’d probably try to kick your ass too,” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. Bringing his own hand up, the brunette used his fingers and thumb to move the blonde locks off of Steve’s face. His palm cupped the entirety of his face as he examined the bruise better, using his other hand on the other side of his face to keep it still. This close to his friend, Steve could smell the day’s cigarette and sweat on the other man’s body and tried not to lean in completely to surround himself in the scent. The smoke couldn’t be healthy for his lungs, often causing a fit from just inhaling it whenever someone around him sparked up, but he couldn’t pry himself away from it now as it lured him in. Bucky’s voice was quiet when he muttered, “What am I going to do with you?” — carding his fingertips in the ends of Steve’s hair near his temple absentmindedly as he moved the face in his hands to take in the extent of the damage. 

Finally, Bucky grabbed the other man’s wrist and started tugging him to the kitchen table to seat him down. The kitchen was dark, though neither of them tried to turn the light one. The lights from outside the window illuminate the profile of the brunette, the vivid and never-ending city showing off the lovely plump lips that Steve only got to taste once. He can’t imagine what he would do just to feel them against his own one more time, to savour and relish in the tenderness that Bucky exuded whenever he touched Steve’s flushed skin. 

The braces on Bucky’s legs creaked loudly as he moved closer to the injured man, bottle of half-finished whiskey in one hand and a box with a washcloth in the other. He clenched his jaw as if it would will the sound away, but Steve caught the sound before he could talk and mask it all together. “You should sit down, Buck. You must be exhausted,” 

The older male shrugged, twisting the cap of the bottle with his teeth. The braces protest to him lowering down to floor in front of Steve, loudly echoing its screams into the darkness surrounding them. “I’ll take ‘em when I take care of your dumbass first,” he said, lifting the blonde’s hand with his own to inspect the extent of the injuries with a hawk’s eye that only Bucky could possess in these situations. Nevermind when the latter comes home black and blue from training at Goldie’s, seeing how the other man had decided for both of them that Steve was the only one of them that needed immediate treatment of his injuries. He was slowly growing both tired and accustomed to being treated like porcelain. “Gotta get these shards outta your hand first,” 

“There should be a pair of tweezers in Ma’s old first aid kit. I think we put it under the sink,”

“Already ahead of you,” Bucky announced, digging into the box to retrieve the instrument. He got to work plucking out the smaller pieces of glass, his hand close enough that Steve can feel the other’s hot breath on his fingers. There was a comfortable and painful pause as he dug to get the worst of the glass out of Steve’s bruised knuckles, the only sounds coming from the street as fathers returned home to their eagerly awaiting families and cars honking at each other in the rush hour traffic. If he listened hard enough, he could hear Mrs. Batterman downstairs listening to the radio while she knits yet another pair of gloves she’ll no doubt give him when winter comes around. “So, you gonna tell me what happened or do I gotta force it outta you?”

“Nothing happened. Got into another fight on my way home with some of your friends from Goldie’s — nothing new,” Steve huffed, leaning back on the wooden chair while Bucky moved his hand around the fleeting lights. He hummed in reply, though it didn’t sound like he was one-hundred percent convinced. What did Bucky want him to say? That he punched out the mirror in their bathroom because he hated what he saw? The sight of him in any reflected surface was so revolting, he wanted to lock himself in a dark room forever? All that would get him was sympathy and feeble attempts from the brunette to comfort him just like everyone else did. He knew how he felt about himself, he didn’t need someone to try and convince him otherwise, thank you very much. 

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t bring up the mirror at all when he replied, slowly dripping alcohol down over the cuts and bruises. “Who was it? I’ll kick their teeth in,” he growled. Steve shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just some goons trying to cop a feel from a dame. Scared them off good when I fainted and they thought I was dead,” 

“Gee, that makes it a whole lot better, Stevie,” 

Steve chuckled. “You sound a lot like Ma,” he said, taking his hand back after Bucky wrapped it up in bandage and tapped the bone of his ankle to check for anymore glass shards. The other didn’t reply, just set to work on examining the sole of his foot with soft touches and rubbing certain parts that looked particularly susceptible to getting glass in them. When he was satisfied with his findings, Bucky passed the damp cloth over the balls and arches of his foot, wiping away any stray stains of blood or dust from them. The roughness of the cloth was a strange contrast with the soft pad of Bucky’s thumb following it’s trail across his foot to rub and soothe the skin. It was overwhelming — to be cared for in such a fashion by someone who wasn’t even close to a lover. It was intimate, and if there’s one thing he knows about himself, is that Steve ran from any signs of intimacy displayed by the other boy. 

He moved his foot away from Bucky abruptly, clearing his throat as he stood up. The Bucky remained on his knees on the floor, looking up at him with a puzzled look. “I’m … I’m going to head to bed. Don’t forget about your medicine,” 

“Don’t need it. Doc says that I don’t need ‘em anymore. I’m as fit as a fiddle,” Bucky stood up easily, something that had been a hassle from him since they were kids whenever his legs felt to brittle and weak to support his weight. The illness was something all too rare, only ever seen in about three cases every few decades. Not much was known other than that Bucky often experienced fatigued muscle, refusing to even have the strength to push the door open in the morning. Thankfully, they come and go every few months, never bothering him whenever he had a competition. It only really started to be a problem around the colder months, when both men were under the mercy of the New York winter where Steve’s lungs closed and Bucky’s legs faltered. 

“Fit as a fiddle, my ass. I can hear your braces from here, pal,” 

“Just bein’ cautious. I’m serious, Steve. I already promised Tommy down the street that I’ll let him have ‘em when I don’t need ‘em anymore,” Bucky paused, glancing down at the hidden metal under his trousers, “Only thing I’ll miss ‘bout ‘em will be your painting,” 

How could he forget? The chrome metal upsetted Bucky when he first got them for his seventeenth birthday — shortly after his surgery to try and correct the nerves — and he cursed about how they made him feel like a robot.  _ It’s dehumanizing _ ,  he said, throwing them across the room with a violence that Steve never ever recalled the other ever possessing. He refused to wear them for the longest time, no matter how many times he’d fallen on the last few steps on the stairwell or on the sidewalk while running. It got to a point that it was growing all too customary to see his knees covered in scrapes and bruises that pained the blonde whenever he saw them. Eventually, he took matters into his own hands and decided to paint the braces with roses and stars, turning something so metallic into something more natural. It took him a few days to get the colors just right while he sat next to his Ma, listening to her cough and hum while she sewed up holes in an old pillow. It was one of the moments towards the end that Steve could never forget — a soft and gentle afternoon by his mother being one of the last they’ll ever get together. 

He presented them to Bucky two weeks later, proudly thrusting them into his arms with a smile as he watched the other man's eyes grow to two times their size. He hesitated to touch them, asking in a small voice if they were really his. 

Since then, Bucky wore them everyday to work. 

“I can always recreate it. Who knows? Maybe this time it’ll be better,” with that, Steve turned his back to the gorgeous man in the kitchen and walked into their shared bedroom, stripping out of his trousers for the night and opting to sleep in his singlet and underwear. The air was getting chilly, yes, though his mountain of blankets were comprised of wool and knit. It would be alarming if Steve still felt cold snuggled under all of them.   


He closed his eyes, releasing all the tension from his limbs and shoulders with a sigh. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. He prayed silently that when he woke up, all his feelings for the other man would be dashed away into nothingness. 

* * *

There’s a familiar yet new ache that came with loving someone you’re not meant to love. Every love story was different, and thus there were different ways of how people feel when enthralled with the powerful emotion. Some felt that love was dancing in the streets at midnight and declaring loudly the name of their beloved, others felt love as a battle that had to be won with teeth and nails. 

For Ma, she described it as a Monet painting. Her love was soft and vibrant, full of life dedicated to the smallest of strokes on a canvas as each moment she shared with his father was etched into the grand magnus opus of a painter. Steve always imagined it filled to the brim with sunshine and saltwater, roses and golden arches. Sarah Rogers experienced the kind of love that completely uplifted the spirits of those in the presence of the young couple, mesmerized by the shine in their smiles whilst unaware of the horror that would befall the red strings of soulmates. It was a secret thought of his that his father’s last glance in a war-torn field — surrounded by bodies of his fellow comrades and retching from the burn of a gas burning him alive — was the lovely features of his wife as she sat by an open window, an unfinished sketch sitting in her lap. 

Unfinished. Just like their life together. 

Steve believed that love for him was melancholy. It felt like waking up in the early hours of the morning when the sun was just about to rise, and the world was quiet — knowing that you were the only one awake in a sleeping world and watching the empty streets of a busy city. 

It was the color blue — the deep and cold tinges that hung on the sound of its name, the vast unknown that hinted at something extraordinary hidden within itself, bright and dark at the same time. He felt blue when Bucky called his name with a smile on his lips. He felt blue whenever Bucky’s skin brushed his on purpose to knock hips or elbows. He felt blue when smoke slipped out of Bucky’s mouth when he smoked on the fire escape and overlooked the twinkling lights in the midnight of Brooklyn. He felt his love when it poured from the heavens and casted them all in a gloomy existence, when it forced two young men to share a bed just to hold onto what warmth remained between the two of them. 

Melancholy. It was the name for a sadness that had no cause or reason to exist; much like the love he felt for his best friend. 

It wasn’t all sadness, though. It got a bad name, that poor word. In Steve’s eyes, melancholy could be just the goosebumps that filled him when Bucky smiled at him in a way that the younger man knew was just his. The chill that settled in his bones at the first sign of autumn. He felt the emotion, and chose to turn something used for heartbreak into heartthrob. 

It was so powerful for Steve to have melancholy for the other man, that he barely noticed how he has conquered up the word to mean something so completely different that it warped the original meaning of the word. All his life, he sought out the dreary and calm desire that told him that this wasn’t just any other crush that he had experienced in his life. It wasn’t a flame that burned out just as quickly as it was lit, nor was it so passionate that he became blinded by what laid ahead for him. Steve preferred the tranquility in imagining breakfast in the morning with the brunette, to read the paper together in silence while the clock ticks down to the final minutes before they have to rush to work, maybe even one day discussing marriage if it were ever to be available. It was all in the details of a life not yet lived, but Steve couldn’t wait to jump headfirst into it. 

But that’s the real kicker in living in a world of fantasy: it’s not real. 

The reality was that Bucky would pack up his things and leave one day. He’ll spend those mornings with a pretty and sweet lady, reading the paper together before he rushed to work. Plant a kiss on her ruby lips while she cradled a baby with the Barnes’ signature cheekbones and her gorgeous features mixed in. It was only a matter of time before she came along, sweeping his soulmate out of his life in a swing of her skirt. It was only a matter of time. 

At least, that’s what he always thought was going to take the brunette out of his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, follow me on tumblr @latinacap and don't forget to comment to fuel my ego and churn out more.


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